


Awaking in the Light

by the_sylph_of_mind



Series: We'll Fuse When We Collide [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Canonical Character Death, Cunnilingus, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Dates, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, War, fireplay, reader is female
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 91,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sylph_of_mind/pseuds/the_sylph_of_mind
Summary: When you’d first heard King Regis was in need of volunteers from outside the walls of Insomnia, you were too young to answer the call. Being a Glaive sounded like a way to ensure safety from the slowly encroaching Imperial forces, both for yourself and maybe for your whole home region, given enough time. You feared Niflheim bleeding into your home and throughout Lucis, and being recruited into and trained for the Kingsglaive felt like a way you could be part of inspiring some fear back into Niflheim. You counted the days until you could register.And then you met Ignis Scientia.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a long one, everyone! I've probably given more of my heart to Ignis than I have to any other best boy, and I hope I can do him justice here. Thank you for reading! Please enjoy!

When you’d first heard King Regis was in need of volunteers from outside the walls of Insomnia, you were too young to answer the call. Being a Glaive sounded like a way to ensure safety from the slowly encroaching Imperial forces, both for yourself and maybe for your whole home region, given enough time. You feared Niflheim bleeding into your home and throughout Lucis, and being recruited into and trained for the Kingsglaive felt like a way you could be part of inspiring some fear back into Niflheim. You counted the days until you could register.

 

 

The King’s magic that now runs through you makes you feel powerful, adept. The closeness you feel with your new comrades gives you a sense of connection, a purposefulness that you’d sought but never found growing up in the seedier districts of Leide. You even feel at home with the more seasoned soldiers; all the same magic and training under each of your belts makes for a closeness in the ranks that you cherish, and you want to protect that, the way your comrades in turn protect you. You have a cause: to guard Insomnia and its citizenry, and as a Glaive you have the means to fulfill that.

No matter the dedication to the Crown and the Kingsglaive you feel, relocating is a challenge. You’ve yet to feel at home amidst the polished shine of the Citadel. The circumstance of it makes you feel out of place, like you are merely pretending to be an elite, an impostor far from fit to be in the presence of the royal line. You know this is hardly the truth; many of the Kingsglaive (and even, you hear, some of the Crownsguard) come from humble beginnings. Yours is far from an uncommon story, but you can’t help how you feel. At least right now, only a handful of months into your journey as a Glaive. For now, you prefer to spend your time off the clock where the lights aren’t quite so bright and the structures not quite so immaculate.

As it happens, a large number of other Glaives feel similarly to you, and you find yourself meeting up with a mixed handful of them whenever you go to one of your crawls in Insomnia’s periphery districts. It brings you closer to them still, bonding over shared pasts as well as presents, and likely futures.

Despite this intimate familiarity, you’ve learned none of the Kingsglaive is involved with another. Not for oath’s or regulation’s sake, but more because the love you feel here is that of fiercely devoted blood. To become romantically or sexually involved with a comrade here would feel like it was somehow compromising that bond,somehow staining the integrity of your promises to protect one another and the Crown City unconditionally. Somehow it wouldn’t be as sacred as what you have now. 

 

 

Tonight, you are at a bar which you particularly like called “Constellation,” carrying no fewer than six drinks in your arms back to your comrades at the dimly lit, scuffed table, laughing at the conversation you are reentering. As you pass out the drinks and at least two fist bumps, you feel no desire to compromise your relationship with these people, certainly the closest friends or family you’ve ever had.

A few more members of the Glaive by chance come to the same bar, not an uncommon occurrence. You wave them over to join you, standing and volunteering to go procure a few more beers for them. You drag a couple chairs from nearby tables and weave your way through the patrons, making your way to the bar and poking your head through the line of occupied barstools to place another order. As you wait by the bar for your drinks to be filled, a glint of light catches your eye. You glance to the dark edges of the room, but it’s a hopeless endeavor, there are just too many people here, the space too dimly lit to pinpoint anything. You shrug, figuring it must have been the flash of a phone shone into a purse or some other innocuous thing.

You wouldn’t call yourself raucous but the atmosphere in Constellation lends itself to some good tussles, and as the evening goes on and you have another beer, you find yourself challenging another female Glaive to arm wrestling. Chairs are cleared as far back as the other tables would allow and you and she have the attention of a solid chunk of the patronage. You and she have barely spoken up until this point, but it doesn’t seem to matter as the two of you exchange friendly, competitive grins and brace your elbows. You suppose that’s why finding this kind of friendship comes so easily here.

“What’s your name?” She asks you.

You tell her. She grins and says,

“I’m Crowe. I look forward to serving the Crown with you,” She flexes her fingers in your grasp, “and to absolutely crushing you right now.”

“I hope those words taste good later.” You quip.

Constellation erupts into hoots and whistles when a comrade yells “Go!” and your forehead nearly presses to Crowe’s as you two push against each other relentlessly.

It’s close as the two of you keep the other’s hand nearly motionless, but your arm gives an inch when you see that glint of light in your periphery again and your gaze flicks away from the table to scan the crowd. Crowe wastes no time in taking advantage of your momentary distraction and twists, compromising your steady grip and pushing her hand down on top of yours to the table.

The patrons cheer, clapping and drinking as she stands with one arm in the air. You blush, but take her hand as she extends it for a firm shake.

“Good stuff. I think this means you owe me a drink?”

“I guess that’s fair,” You laugh, reaching to pull chairs back into place, but a cry of “I play winner!” has you abandoning the endeavor as a non-Glaive patron sits across from Crowe. She’s rubbing her shoulder, but smiling devilishly.

You shrug, laughing, and wind your way to the edge of the spectators and still seated patrons back to the bar to get Crowe another round. Constellation seems nearly empty outside of the immediate circle of patrons, Glaive and citizen alike taking in what you guess is becoming a tourney. With so few heads to obscure your line of sight as you ask the bartender for one more drink, you’re able to find the source of the gleam of light in the shadowy back corner of the bar.

Constellation is lit mostly by a central source, a large disk in the ceiling diffusing a soft warm light to nearly the whole footage of the place. The dark corners are lit by individual sconces, and strings of bead lights hang in loops from the ceiling. You realize what’s been catching your eye is a reflection in a pair of glasses. As the man in the corner booth had periodically turned his attention to the scene in the center of the bar, his glasses caught the light from the large ceiling lamp.

At first you tut, a little annoyed that what had distracted you from your contest with Crowe and cost you a drink and a blow to your pride is just a reflection in a stranger’s glasses. You study him as you wait for your beer, lenses yellow and opaque as he watches Crowe defeat her next challenger. Just as a bottle is slid gently onto the bar in front of you, he turns his head a few degrees and the reflection clears from his glasses. His eyes meet yours, ocean green and clear, and you gasp as recognition floods your mind.

The Royal Advisor is here?

“Hon? Miss?”

The bartender is trying to get your attention and you are quick to break the eye contact.

“Yeah? Oh—” She is holding out the beer you’ve ordered. You shake yourself out of your shock and flick your eyes to her name tag so you can use her name and try to gloss over your moment of distraction.

“Last call, hon. Do you want to order anything else before I close you out?”

“Um. No, no I think that’s all I can budget in for tonight, Lumen. Thanks.”

“Sure thing, hon.” Lumen turns her attention to the crowd and calls out over the circle of heads, “Last call, everyone! House closes in an hour!” just as Crowe, after you lost track how many challengers, finally relents and lets the back of her hand hit the table. A cheer rings out for the new victor but Crowe is laughing, tallying up on her fingers how many beers she is owed now. You grin as you sign your name on the receipt Lumen slides over to you, scooping up the bottle you bought for Crowe and leaving a handful of coins on the bar. The circle of spectators disperses as many push chairs back into place and collect their belongings, some leaving money on tabletops and saying their goodbyes, others circling back to Lumen to either close their tabs or get one last drink before the night ends. You chance a look at the table where the Royal Advisor is sitting, but you can’t spot him through the curtain of winding bodies. Maybe you’d been mistaken? It would make more sense, surely the Crownsguard wouldn’t be at a dimly lit bar in the middle rings of the city, watching…impromptu arm wrestling tournaments…

You blush, suddenly feeling unrefined. You hand Crowe her drink, the first in a line of victor’s spoils.

“Want to have a rematch before last call’s up?” She grins up at you.

“Nah, let’s save it for next time. Besides I already paid my tab.” Crowe chuckles and reaches into her pocket.

“In that case, you can have one of my IOUs.” She tosses you a poker chip.

“Thank you. How many of these do you have?”

She replies by smirking and pulling a handful of chips out of her pocket. She shrugs, grinning toothily.

You trade in your poker chip to Lumen with a few minutes to spare before last call ends. Maybe still a little embarrassed by thinking you’ve acted so raucously in front of a Crownsguard and trying to regain some veneer of dignity, you opt for a glass of wine over another beer. You decide to take a seat on a barstool now that several have been vacated, surveying the dwindling patronage and taking a sip. You flick your gaze over the rim of your glass to the booth you thought you saw the Advisor, but can’t spot him or a telltale reflection.

“I’m ready for my check, Ms. Lumen, if you please.”

You jump at the accented voice’s proximity. Lumen smiles warmly to your right and turns to pull up a tab.

“Sure thing, Mr…” She glances at the type on her screen as his receipt prints, “…Scientia.” She slides him his bill and you watch from your peripherals as a gloved hand deftly takes a pen and autographs the bottom of the stub.“Your name sounds familiar, but I haven’t seen you here before.”

“You might have read my name in the paper’s food and wine section. I’ve dabbled in playing a chef.”

“Well, I hope you liked what you ordered enough to come back. Though tonight it did get a little more…lively than it usually is.” She said, a little abashed. You feel your stomach drop.

“I’m sorry, Lumen.” You pipe. “I shouldn’t have made a big deal—”

“Don’t worry, baby. Nothing got broke and all the tables got put back, so it’s a good day as far as I’m concerned.” She smiles at you.

“I quite enjoyed spectating, so you needn’t seek an apology from me, either.”

Your stomach drops further as the Royal Advisor addresses you. You turn to meet his gaze, piercing behind thinly prescribed lenses, a color you haven’t seen before. His body is turned toward you, perched on the edge of his barstool, legs crossed easily with one toe touching the floor and leaning one elbow on the countertop, lacing his fingers together loosely. He manages to look composed and relaxed at the same time. Your cheeks flush, still embarrassed that your boss’s boss’s boss just watched you start a scene in a bar. Lumen interrupts your musings.

“I’m going to start cleaning up, are you two good for now?”

“Indeed.”

“Sure, thanks.”

Lumen nods with a smile, pockets a few rags, and disappears through the narrow double doors nestled in between shelves of alcohol and taps behind her.

The bar is still far from empty, but you feel starkly alone with the Advisor.

“Sir, I-I hope you don’t think me a less capable Glaive because of the ruckus that I—”

“Please, no need for that. Like I said, it was fun to watch. If I’m to be honest, I was rooting for you that first round.” He extends his gloved hand to you. A little numb, you take it in a delicate shake.

“Ignis Scientia, quite charmed.” You chill hearing his full name as you return the introduction. Why is he here? This is at best a decent pub and at worst a fairly clean dive bar. If the Crownsguard is hanging here, they’re certainly settling on their Saturday.

“I-I know who you are…” You stutter. Then, managing to collect your thoughts you add, “You’re pretty far from the Citadel. It looks like the folk in this ring of districts don’t know your face.”

He shrugs, fluid and relaxed as he releases your hand.

“Just as you and your comrades, The Crownsguard can spend our free time how we please. I happened to harbor no interest in joining my contemporaries in how they plan to spend theirs this evening. So here I am, seeking a change of pace—perhaps even refuge.”

“It’s just you here?”

“Indeed.”

“What on Eos is His Highness and Company doing tonight that you needed to ‘seek refuge’ all the way out here?”

Ignis grimaces, a complex expression on his statuesque features.

“Stuff hardly good for table conversation.”

“O-Oh. Of course. Well…” You glance at the rest of your party, all downing the last dregs of their drinks or already saying their goodbyes. “The other Glaives haven’t noticed you. Do, um—do you want to stay on the low?”

“As much as possible. I don’t want your comrades’ evenings to be suddenly turned as frigid as yours did once you noticed me. I apologize for that. It wasn’t my intention to make you worry about business during your leisure time.”

You hear your name called and you jump, your attention whipped back to your party. Crowe is waving you over. You’re torn between formality and covertness, not sure whether to excuse yourself politely or try not to draw attention to Ignis.

“I’ll be here should you wish to continue,” Blessed Stars, he provided a way for you to untangle yourself from your internal struggle.

“Thank you,” You say, standing and striding over to say goodbye to your comrades. You realize the words Ignis had said to you don’t actually call for thanks, and you redden. Damn it. You may as well have said “You too.”


	2. Chapter 2

You’re ushered outside to finish your goodbyes, and you flick your gaze back to Ignis still perched on the barstool, engaging in conversation with Lumen as she wipes down the countertop and throws damp napkins and spent lemon wedges into a receptacle. His attention elsewhere, he misses the eye contact you try to make. You hope he’ll know you are just stepping out for a second. You push the door leading outside, the cold night breeze brushing your hair back.

Some of your comrades call rental Chocobos right outside Constellation’s doors, but you’re led farther than you anticipate as you walk others across the street to their cars, unable to disengage from conversation. You have to politely turn down offers to give you a ride home, though it would save you needing to call a cab or spend money on a Chocobo. Though he’d said it wasn’t anything to judge you by, you’re still embarrassed that Ignis saw you, a Glaive, act so…coarsely. Trying to remain innocuous or no, you’re loath to have him think you made another faux pas by not quietly giving your superior a proper farewell.

Finally, after seeing off the remaining few Glaives, you anxiously cross the street again and pull on the door to Constellation, only to have the lock resist you.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Dig you forget something?”

You jump again at Ignis’s voice so close to you and scan the shadows to find him leaning against the hood of a parked car, one ankle tossed over the other, hands in his pockets. Twin stabs of embarrassment and distress make you almost queasy. You sigh; might as well lay it all out.

“I thought it’d be rude to not say goodnight, especially since you’re being so…cool about the scene I started. I couldn't think how to give you a proper goodbye without drawing the attention you wanted to avoid, but,” You indicate the locked door, “I thought I’d missed my chance to save face, and…then swore, right in front of you. So that’s oh-for-three.”

Ignis chuckles. It’s a thrumming timbre that you feel in your stomach.

“I understand your uneasiness, but keep in mind that you weren’t the only one out on a Saturday, found in a scenario that perhaps would have some raising a brow. I was here, too.” He smirks coyly. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“That…works, Sir.” You grin and let out a relieved sigh.

“We’re far from the Citadel; feel free to call me Ignis.”

“O-Of course. If I can ask Sir—um, Ignis: when you figured you’d go out stag tonight, what made you decide to come here, or anywhere in this whole district, for that matter?”

Ignis shifts his weight and stands, pushing gently on the bridge of his glasses.

“I know new recruits to the Kingsglaive tend to find themselves more at ease in parts of the city like this one. I am a citizen of Insomnia, as are you, but I don’t have the same…” He pauses, eyes flicking to the ground before meeting yours again. “perspective that a Glaive does, and I must assure you I imply no quaint subtext. I have nothing but unadulterated respect and awe for you and your comrades.”

“I didn’t think you were implying anything,” You say, trying not to let on to the swell of pride you feel in your chest. “I get it, you wanted to people-watch.”

Ignis makes a motion akin to a shrug.

“Something like that, though I’m never truly ‘off the clock,’ so a pretense of formality was needed to justify my actions. I’m a Royal Advisor first, and a tactician closely second. I thought, if I were to be spending tonight alone regardless, I could take the opportunity to learn more about my fellow servants to the Crown, and perhaps subsequently gain insight of how to better advise His Highness.”

You stifle a chuckle.

“If you wanted to get to know the Kingsglaive after hours, you didn’t have to spy on us. Were you too shy to join our shenanigans?”

“Like I said, there needed to be a pretense of formality.” He gives you an understated smile. “And I’m sure the rest of your comrades wouldn’t have appreciated a royal retainer crashing their party like a chaperone.”

You laugh. “I guess that’s fair. So did you learn anything?”

“I did, in fact.” He stands now to his full height. “I learned that you are all much more fun than I am, and that you seem to be in need of a ride home.” He gestures to the passenger door of his car.

“…Sir?”

“May I accommodate you?”

You reel at his words.

“I…I think that’s a little below your pay grade…isn’t it?”

“In many ways I’m but a glorified chauffeur. More importantly, it would be unbecoming of me not to offer you a ride. And,” He opens the passenger door for you and extends his hand. “neither of us need worry about rank, as we are both ‘off-the-clock’ and free to do as we please. As it happens, it would be my pleasure to drive you home.”

You must look dumbstruck because Six, you feel it.

“Are you sure?”

“I assure you I’m unimpaired, as I prefer a clear head, personally. But feel free to decline if you wish.”

“No, no, I’m not worried about that. I’m just a little caught off guard, is all—Yes, I’ll take a ride. Thank you.” You gingerly place your hand in his and allow him to lower you into the passenger seat, a level of formality on his part incongruous with the darkened street you’re on.

“Watch your fingers,” Ignis says as he gently closes the door for you and strides to the driver’s side. You take the moment you have alone in the car to shake your head and let out a breath. Even though speaking with Ignis is a sobering experience, you’re still buzzed. So it’s definitely better that you have a ride home rather than try to steer a Chocobo through town…right?

You take in what you can about the car: It has some kind of interior lighting making the ceiling glow a soft blue, and it’s upholstered with a dark, shiny material, difficult in this light to tell if it’s black or very deep brown. Everything is immaculate, like the car’s construction had been completed mere hours ago, and it smells like coffee and leather.

Ignis opens his door and slides in next to you. Like he’d been reading your thoughts, he lifts the lid to the center console and reaches in, procuring a can of coffee.

“Do you have need for sobriety at any point during the rest of the night?”

“Is…that a trick question?”

“I’d never be so duplicitous.”

You smirk at this. “Well, I guess the answer is no. I want to be able to sleep tonight, too.”

“A fair answer.” He says, sliding the coffee back into the hidden compartment and starting the car.

“This isn’t the Regalia, is it?”

“Oh, no, it wouldn’t be fitting to use His Highness’s vehicle for my own excursions.” He replies with a genuine grin. “No, this one is my own. I admit I don’t take her out as often as she likely deserves.”

“You sound like you’re talking about a girl,” You chuckle, fastening your seatbelt. Ignis’s sharp features are highlighted by the blue glow sourcelessly emanating from the ceiling, and he looks almost ethereal, like an Astral.

“Oh gods, I should hope I’d show no such neglect.” He side-eyes you as the electronics in the car blink to life, indicating his GPS. “If you would.”

“Oh, right.” You tap the screen and enter your address, leaning over the center console. In the claustrophobic space you can hear his breath. The GPS begins silently navigating and Ignis coaxes a thrum from the engine as he pulls out from the parking space.

“Um. Ignis?”

“Yes?” He glances at you but quickly returns his gaze to the road.

“You were waiting for me, after closing.”

“I was.”

“Can I ask why? I mean, you had no reason to think I hadn’t just gone home.”

“Quite the contrary, you thanked me when I said I would remain while you bid your comrades farewell. I thought it indicative of your desire to keep conversing and therefore I stayed nearby after closing. Unless I misunderstood you?”

You recall your blabbering and redden.

“Noooo. No that’s exactly what I meant when I said ‘thank you.’”

Ignis flicks his gaze your direction and cocks an eyebrow.

“…Of course.”

…Damn it, he’s onto you.

“Okay, no, you got me. I didn’t know how I should make an exit, and you helped give me an out. I just spoke without thinking.”

He pauses, then smiles softly. “It appears I’ve been outmaneuvered.”

“…What do you mean?”

“I didn’t know you were deliberating on how to leave. It seems I was tipping my hand and revealing my desire to keep speaking with you, instead.”

You nearly swallow your tongue.

“Why?”

Ignis chuckles, “That’s one way to tell me how you feel.”

You backpedal, feeling blood rise to the surface of your face.

“It’s just…what hooked you?”

“You did start an arm-wrestling tournament in the middle of a bar. I wasn’t intending to interrupt the middle of your evening, but you were unfortunate enough to notice me and break my cover.”

“I mean…I wouldn’t say ‘unfortunate.’”

“No?” He glances at you, holding your gaze for a moment longer than he had previously. You notice flecks of water begin to dapple the windshield and Ignis switches on the wipers.

“If I’m being honest, I’m having a way more interesting night for it.”

His features soften and he smiles warmly. It makes your stomach flip.

“I’m flattered.”

“Really? You hang out with Prince Noctis and such. Don’t they get up to all kinds of like…weird shenanigans?”

“Undoubtedly. But though theirs are friendships I hold dearer than life itself, I am still in His Highness’s service and must act accordingly.”

You feel sudden understanding dawn.

“Oh my gods.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I get it!”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“You, Ignis, are looking for a way to unwind!”

His driving remains impeccable, but you swear you see the cords in his neck tense.

“…I wouldn’t phrase it that way.”

“How would you phrase it, then?”

“…Hm.”

“Gotcha.”

Ignis is at a stop in an empty intersection two or three beats longer than necessary. “You must think me foolish.”

“Nah, I used to be an awkward nerd, too.”

“Piercing choice of words.”

You’re grinning, but you’re unsure just how deeply to test these waters.

“Sorry. I just mean you don’t need to be embarrassed. To be honest, I’ve been sort of floundering around you, too.”

You’re stunned by how charming Ignis’s full smile is.

“Well, there’s no need to elaborate. I’m comforted enough to know I’m not alone in my missteps this evening.”

He pulls the car around a familiar turn and you see the lights of your building. He slows once he’s as close to your front door as the street will allow and shifts the car into park along the curb. You’re confused for a moment when he steps out as you unbuckle yourself, but quickly realize he’s bookending his formal gesture and opening the passenger door for you. You grin sweetly as you take the hand he extends to guide you out of the car.

“You’re too nice.”

“Hardly. I don’t even have an umbrella for you.”

“Aw, that’s okay. I’m pretty rough-and-tumble, a little rain won’t kill me. Thank you for the ride home.”

“And thank you for your company.”

It’s a chaste thing, the kiss Ignis brushes across your knuckles, but it’s so unexpected that you freeze, eyes wide and breath shallow. Ignis’s eyes are closed for the moment that his lips are pressed to the back of your hand. It’s a gesture you thought reserved for only the most formal occasions, but here he is on the street outside your house, mist dappling the insides of his lenses as his head is bent in anarchaic intimacy you never thought you’d be sharing with the Royal Advisor.

“…Anytime,” You manage as he stands to his full height once more.

“As it were, I was hoping that might be the case.” Ignis smiles, brows peaked softly. “I admit you caught me off guard with your blunt diagnosis of my goal going out for the night. If you’ve any ways someone with a disposition like mine might ‘unwind,’ I would be keen to join you.”

You’re at a loss for words for a moment; how you got here over the course of just a couple hours is all so weird. Ignis picks up on your hesitation.

“I understand if you’d rather keep your professional and personal lives separate—”

“How do I reach you?”

Ignis’s face, though expressive in its own right, has a kind of aloof composure. So when you see a thrill of relief cross his features, it’s a shift you have no single word for, like the beauty of a silent blue pre-dawn eclipsed by the first shock of sunlight. Everything about him is just a little brighter, warmer, as he enters his contact information into your phone.

“Forgive my clumsiness in the matter. It’s a touch embarrassing to admit aloud, but forging relationships is a rarity for me. That is not to say that those I have found through service to Prince Noctis are not precious to me, but I’ve hardly a long and storied track record.”

“I guess we’ll work on that.”

You’re struck again by the charm of his full smile and you catch yourself beaming with him.

“I hope I do not disappoint.”


	3. Chapter 3

You find yourself in a fog for the rest of the night and well into the next day. All of your interactions and activities float above a dark undercurrent, intermittentlypulling you away from your tasks and down toward something you can’t see or identify. You wouldn’t even know for sure your interaction with Ignis wasn’t just a fever dream if not for his name and number nestled innocuously into your contacts. You surface and move forward in the line at the train station coffee shop you’ve stopped at.

You can’t name what you’re experiencing. It’s all just so bizarre. You suppose you’re deep in disbelief, first and foremost. Anxiousness would be a close second. Maybe…confusion third? You do have little to no information about what possessed Ignis to go out on his own, just that he didn’t feel like joining the Prince and Company in whatever antics they were up to that night. You’re also not entirely sure what Ignis’s intentions are. His words made it seem like he’s just seeking company outside of the Crownsguard, people who can give him insight into another facet of those in service to the Crown, but…the image of his head bent, lips pressed to your knuckles flits through your mind, and you’re dragged down into the dark undercurrent once more, auto-piloting through the rest of your interaction with the barista.

 

Last night’s light showers have gathered strength, and it is raining in earnest as you make your way toward the Citadel on the train, clutching your coffee for warmth and an anchor to the outside world. You watch droplets streak horizontally across the window as the train pierces through the rain that blankets the capital. Insomnia takes on its namesake when it rains. Everything about it is sleepy; The horizon is slightly grey and soft in the foggy light, persuading you to close your eyes, though sleep can’t come to you now. You need to go to work.

 

New recruits are subject to longer periods of brushing up on combat; likely you won’t be considered a veteran Glaive until to you prove you truly treat the magic as a natural extension of yourself. For now, only a few months in, it’s still taking you precious seconds to account for magic in your sparring. As luck would have it, you’re paired with Crowe as your superior when you report for the morning.

“No hangover?” You ask as you bump your forearm against hers.

“Tch, please,” Is all she says with a grin. You’re in a large field with several types of terrain. You’re fairly close to the gleaming walls of the Citadel, if you threw a rockhard enough you could probably hit the outer ring of it. There are hollow buildings, a circle of tall trees, an open segment of unkempt grass, a defunct and grounded cargo plane leaning on its side, a section of open road, and all throughout there are pairs and trios of other Glaives spaced evenly, squaring off. Flashes of blue and white streak and spark through the rain like neurons, painting the Kingsglaive as the nervous system of Insomnia.

“Glad you got home safe,” Crowe continues as you find an unoccupied quadrant to spar in. You’re suddenly quiet. Telling her the specifics of how you got home last night would certainly blow the cover Ignis asked you to keep, but lying to a fellow Glaive felt like a betrayal. You make a show of yawning to buy yourself a few seconds to think of a response. If nothing else, he far outranks you and Crowe, so maybe you can treat it as an order…but the reason Igins wanted to stay innocuous was because he didn’t want the Glaives to suddenly feel like they had to reign in their night out in his presence, and the night was over…so…

“I, uh, I ran into…someone at Constellation who could give me a ride. I didn’t want to ditch him.”

“Cool. Though you could’ve told me at the time, you know. I get that you don’t know me that well—”

“It’s not that. Not at all.” You interject. “I, er…can we practice a little first? I need to clear my head.” Crowe looks at you with knitted brows, rain gathering in flecks in her messily tied hair.

“Sure…you good?”

“I…I think so. Just come at me as hard as you can, okay? I’ve been in a funk and need to be knocked out of it.”

At this, Crowe smirks.

“My pleasure.”

She unsheathes her blade, and like lightning she’s gone from your line of sight as she throws her dagger hard into the space behind and above you. Six, she isn’t fooling around. You follow the trail of light before it peters out and ready your own dagger. You see her perched hawk-like on the highest point of the downed plane. She wiggles her fingers at you and casually flips backward off her perch, disappearing into the top deck of the plane. It takes a moment before you can react; Gods, Crowe is so cool.

You shake your head and fling your blade to chase after her, you really will need a clear head if you’re going to get Crowe to yield here. You know you can stomach far many more concurrent warps than she can, but that hardly matters when you’ve got little to no skill for other magic like Crowe does. For what Mages lack in mobility on the battlefield they more than make up for with raw firepower. You’ve shown no talent for it yet, you might learn to wield fire or lightning to some extent in time, but your blade is your precious only vessel for your borrowed magic for now.

You drop down into the open maintenance hatch of the plane, your feet making a clang as they impact with the utilitarian grate flooring. There’s no light to hint at where Crowe is, and other than the sounds of the various scuffles taking place all around you outside the hull of the plane, it’s silent. With no sensory information beyond the circle of dim, rainy light, it’s suddenly got you on edge. You’re thrust into the headspace of a Glaive taking on an Imperial combatant, but one with the upper hand, one stalking you from the shadows.

This is good. You need this.

You see the cabin illuminate before you hear the telltale whoosh of fire, and you have milliseconds to dodge and counter Crowe’s Firaga. You find yourself fighting nearly blind, the light from the magic fading quickly between you and she as you trademagical blows. You have to predict her motions in between the brief bursts of illumination, and your luck runs out when you get punched in the face. This is more taxing than you were anticipating, and you distantly feel relieved for the clarity as you spit blood.

“Gotta do better!” Crowe quips as she warps away.

“Be careful what you wish for!” You yell, blood dripping down your chin as you pursue her down through the decks of the cargo plane.

 

In the end it’s no contest. Crowe reties her hair, none the worse for wear, as you lay on your back in the grass where Crowe had flung you out through one of the rusted openings in the plane’s hull.

“In my defense—”

“Save it, sweetheart. You told me to come at you as hard as I could.” She shrugs and lightly steps out of the plane, flicking her blade toward you mid-fall. It buries itself in the grass near your shoulder and Crowe materializes over you. “Here,” She extends a potion in the flat of her palm and pushes it down on a burn blooming across your shoulder. You hiss at the rough contact, but the soothing rush from the potion quickly dispels the pain. You wipe the residual blood from your mouth as you feel the cuts around your lips heal along with the seared skin.

“Thanks. I needed some roughing up, I think.”

“Did it knock you out of that funk?” Crowe asks, sitting back on her heels and offering you a hand. You take it, brushing damp hair and rain from your eyes. You think for a moment about your answer. It was true you hadn’t been so distracted during your spar you couldn’t put up a good fight. But just like when you challenged her to arm-wrestling back at Constellation, Crowe took advantage of your moments of compromised attention, no matter how slight, and you ultimately ended up yielding to her again.

“A little. I don’t know.”

“I’m going to be straight with you, I’m not great with helping people talk things out.” Crowe brushes her palms off on her dark pants after helping you stand. “What I can say though is we’re at war. And with the current state of things, you don’t know if your next fight will be for your life or not. But in case it is, you need to sort your shit out fast. I don’t think you wanna die because of whatever’s got you ‘in a funk,’”

Her words make you reel. Technically, you’re in service to Insomnia, and that includes Ignis. Certainly it’s in your job description to take any bullet for the Royal family, you extend that obligation to protect the Crownsguard or royal retainers just as you do for any other Lucian citizen in danger. Perhaps, had you pictured trading your life to save Ignis before meeting him, speaking with him, it wouldn’t have given you pause. Should it call for your life, your job was to give it.

You remember his head bent in a kiss to your hand.

Yesterday morning answering Crowe’s question would have been simple. Of course you’d die to save Ignis, should it be necessary. Now, your answer is the same, but you’ve got a stab in your gut that manifested overnight, complicating things.

“‘Course I don’t want to die.” Is the reply you manage.

Crowe shrugs, sheathing her dagger at her hip.

“Guess you got shit to sort out, then.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it occurred to me writing this chapter that it doesn't rain in Insomnia, but I'd already posted the first three chapters and I liked the aesthetic of the Reader and Ignis going through their first interactions in the rain. I'm sorry for the continuity fumble. Maybe there's a mechanic of the shield that isn't explained in the game where it lets atmospheric stuff in, like wind and rain etc. Otherwise it would get super dry and stifling I'm sure. In any case, please forgive the slip up and definitely please keep enjoying the fic! This chapter is fairly short, but the next chapter is one I'm particularly fond of, and it's the chapter after that where stuff gets really interesting! As always, thank you for reading <3

You’re brushing the accumulated rain out of your hair and hanging up pieces of your uniform to dry in the Glaive common area. Crowe waves at a small group of men passing by the open doorway and moves to go join them. They are all veteran Glaives by the details on their uniforms and the way they carry themselves, grinning and bumping Crowe on the shoulder. You don’t mean to eavesdrop, but they’re all so loud.

“How’s babysitting?” The tallest of them asks Crowe.

“We talked about boys, punched each other, you know, girl stuff.” Crowe flicks her gaze over her shoulder to indicate you are the young Glaive she’d been charged to train with. Suddenly several sets of eyes are on you and you find yourself blushing. You manage a wave and an amicable smile. The tall one’s expression softens when he sees you, almost in a sad way. Crowe waves you over and he extends his hand as you approach.

“I’ve seen you around, I think. My name’s Nyx. This is Libertus and Luche. I hope Crowe didn’t rough you up too badly.”

You chuckle a little at this.

“She kind of did. I asked for it though.”

“That was your first mistake. Crowe doesn’t play nice.” Luche says and gives her a smirk when she sneers at him.

“That’s why she’s training some of the newbies,” Libertus chimes, smiling broadly. “Who better to toughen them up?”

“Okay okay, you can all stop now. I feel appreciated, thank you. For Hearth and Home, et cetera.” Crowe waves her hands dismissively, shooing them farther down the hall as the group of men share grins and snickers. She turns back to you and extends her forearm to bump yours. “If we’re paired together again I’ll expect that shit to be sorted out by then, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” You say, straightening up and saluting, fist to your heart. Crowe rolls her eyes.

“Stop that, stop stop. I get it, I’m your superior and you’re being a jackass.” Her expression shifts as her brows knit subtly. “Seriously though, I wasn’t bringing it as hard as I could have. We want to avoid losing Glaives, and we don’t know when we’re going to be in the field next. You’re useless to us dead, you got it?”

You nod solemnly. You recall she mentioned you two had “talked about boys” to the others, and though you know she was being facetious in the moment, you wonder if she’d figured out the truth to her words. It would be pretty stupid if this…weird crush on the Prince’s Royal Advisor was what distracted you in a critical life-or-death moment.

“Yes, ma’am,” You say, this time quietly and with no salute. “Thank you—for the girl talk.”

Crowe smirks and bumps your forearm with hers as she turns on her heel to follow the group of Glaives down the hall. As you watch her turn a corner and disappear you chew your lip, thinking about your realization a little more deeply. Hoisting your bag filled with a change of clothes further up on your hip, you make your way to the women’s changing area. You smile as brightly as you can to the other women in there when they greet you and make small bits of conversation easily enough, but like this morning the undertow in your brain is strong. Now though, you have a little light reaching the depths, you have some vocabulary for what you’re experiencing.

A weird crush on the Prince’s Royal Advisor. You hadn’t thought to frame it that way in the last twenty-four hours. You didn’t even realize something like that could manifest so quickly. As you pull your damp tank top off and rummage through your bag for your civilian clothes you try to rationalize. You’re a new recruit to the Kingsglaive. Certainly higher on the totem pole than a random Lucian citizen, but Ignis was raised as a right hand to Prince Noctis. He’ll be hand of the King one day. At best you’ll be a slightly cooler Glaive than you are now, but more likely the Kingsglaive will be dissolved as soon as peace is established and you’ll be knocked back down to just some scrappy kid from Leide. The difference in rank makes you tsk at yourself, pulling on black jeans.

Admitting to yourself that you’re a little infatuated hardly helps. If anything it makes you feel more awkward knowing Ignis wants to spend time with you “unwinding.” Framing those words with how you realize you feel now makes you swallow.

This is pretty dumb, you think, facing the long mirror opposite a row of coat hooks and running a comb through your hair. You stare down your reflection, repeating “this is pretty dumb” like a mantra in your head with each stroke of the comb.

Your phone buzzing in your bag on the countertop next to you shakes you out of your self-chastisement. You lift the top of your bag open and shuffle through its contents, suspecting you’d been speaking of the devil. Sure enough, Ignis’ name stretches across a banner on your homescreen indicating you’d received a text, but the message itself is hidden until you unlock your phone to view it.

This…this is pretty dumb…you think weakly once more. You glance around and decide to wait to view his message, not wanting any questions to arise should a fellow Glaive happen to notice you texting a damn royal retainer. You still aren’t even sure you can talk about it casually with your friends, and you’re much less sure what you would even say. You’re on a first name basis with Ignis Scientia. Why? The undercurrent in your mind swirls uncomfortably.

As morning gives way to noon, you have 90 minutes to get lunch, either in the Glaive cafeteria or out in the city. You need to report back for the boring stuff: the end of the day means endurance running on odd days and weight training on the even. At least for you. Mages might have less physically taxing afternoons; you’ll need to ask Crowe. As you make your way to the train station, detachedly deciding to distance yourself from the Citadel for a spell, you flip open the top of your bag and dig out your phone, thumbing the home button with only a slight moment of hesitation.

 

_“Good morning. I noticed some Glaives training from my window and thought of you. Were you amongst them?”_

 

Guess that’s easy enough to answer.

 

_“Yeah. I’m on lunch rn.”_ You pause. Texting casually feels weird but you don’t delete what you’ve written. _“I was paired up with the same woman from the bar, actually. TBH I wasn’t sure whether or not to talk about you.”_

 

You send your text as the train hisses into the station. The sleek sliding doors open and beckon you aboard as a small check mark appears below your message on your screen, followed by flickering eclipses that ignites an anxious edge within you.

 

_“I understand. Unfortunately it’s a topic best navigated mindfully for now.”_

 

You raise a brow.

 

_“For now? You planning on quitting? That would def help you ‘unwind’”_

 

_“You’re right about that, but I’m afraid quitting simply isn’t in the cards. Though I was referring less to rank and more to lack of good table conversation you might have about me. Would now be a good time to acquire some? I admit I’m at a loss what to tell my compatriots about you, as well.”_

 

You laugh incredulously on the train, earning some sideways glances as you tap out your reply.

 

_“I guess I have some questions I’d like to ask. I’m already on the train but I could turn around.”_

 

_“No need. Where are you headed? I’ll meet you there.”_

 

You feel a blush darken your face and suddenly find yourself scrambling for an excuse not to be seen in public with Ignis. You don’t want that kind of attention if you don’t even know how to answer any inquisitive comments cast your way.

 

_“We’re so close to the Citadel, wouldn’t it be kind of a scene here?”_

 

_“If that’s something you’d prefer to avoid, I’ve got a secret haven of sorts near here. Would you care to join me there?”_

 

_“I admit I’m curious, but what kind of place are we talking?”_

_“And ruin the surprise?”_

 

You nearly stutter out loud. It’s nothing, just a short phrase on your phone, but something in your gut clenches and you swallow. You know he’s just talking, just being a little playfully friendly and coy, but…Ignis dangling something in front of you, denying you something—it makes your breath shallow. Gods damn it…how’d you get this deep this fast? You take a moment to collect yourself before you text back to him.

 

_“I didn’t take you for the surprise type.”_

_“I admit you’re right, though it seems you’ve put me in a box. However should you truly wish to know, I’ll gladly tilt my hand.”_

 

You can hear that charming smile through his text. Remembering it makes you blush. You deliberate hotly with yourself as the train rattles below you, fingers hovering over the keyboard on your screen. You’re still so unsure of your own feelings. Plus, Ignis is so much higher on the food chain than you, his intentions are certainly unquestionably neutral and platonic. He said as much yesterday, he wanted to just meet people a little further from the Crown, but people he could unilaterally trust, like a Glaive—like you. Your starstruck rumination is doubtless just a product of being so kindly and personably treated by a superior with whom you’d never expected to exchange words, let alone…

The thin light shining into the depths of that black undercurrent in your mind illuminates briefly the kiss Ignis pressed to the back of your hand. Your stomach drops and you shake your head. This is pretty dumb, you remind yourself, and you decide it’s probably best to try and at least put your crush to rest by agreeing to meet Ignis. Just a conversation with him, just a sentence or two where Ignis indicates he has no time to spend on courting women or whatever—that’s all it will take for you to shake yourself out of this. This weird stupid thing. 

 

_“Are casual clothes appropriate?”_

 

_“They are.”_

 

_“I guess I’m down, in that case. What stop should I get off at?”_


	5. Chapter 5

The train system in Insomnia is streamlined and seamless, so it’s not a far walk from the stop Ignis indicated to a place called “Enable.” As you round the corner and spot a sign sporting the name, you realize it’s a coffee place. You recall Ignis pulling a can of Ebony coffee from the center console of his car and as the pieces fall into place you find yourself smirking. Of course he’d find a “secret haven” like a tiny gem of a coffee shop with a tongue-in-cheek name.

The scent is drawing you in before you even have the chance to push the door open. There’s a tiny patio with tan umbrellas shading the vacant seats, the leaking canvas meant to protect from the sun, not rain. You close your own umbrella before stepping into the establishment and slide it into the stand by the door among several others.

The inside of Enable is probably only the size of your living room. There are seats along the counter curbing the kitchen, marking it an actual coffee bar, a rarity this close to the Citadel. Everything is brass or copper, down to the mugs and the hammered tabletops. Softly glowing amber lightbulbs hang on strings above each barstool and table, and the floor is a rough dark brown material you swear could be coffee grounds pounded into tile. Maybe it is, maybe that explains the intoxicating concentration of coffee aroma permeating the street around Enable.

You scan the few occupied seats but can’t spot Ignis. You suppose it’s quite possible you beat him here, especially if he was still at the Citadel by the time you messaged him back, already on the speeding train. You glance over the menu on the wall behind the bar, the only digital display to speak of, though the font mimics chalkboard writing. You see they brew Ebony in-house and you immediately deduce that this must be why Ignis calls this tiny artisan coffee bar a haven. You might not know much about him beyond the professional, but you certainly remember a cooler built into the center console of his car for canned Ebony.

You ask the barista for an espresso, and when he asks if that’s all you’d like today, you find yourself adding a hot brewed Ebony to your order. If this is a secret getaway for Ignis and he’s sharing it with you, the least you could do as thanks for such a personal invitation is to pay for his coffee. You figure he’ll be ordering this if not something very similar, and by ordering it now you can avoid the song and dance of you trying to pay for it in front of Ignis and him surely insisting against it, and that wouldn’t feel great.

As you pay, you realize that you just bought Ignis coffee. You’ve never been one for the game-playing aspects of socializing, but the implications here are so straightforward that your heart starts pounding. How are you going to frame this that he doesn’t misinterpret it as some kind of advance or flirtation?

You don’t have time to figure that out.

“I’m glad to see you found your way here.”

You whirl around to find Ignis absentmindedly cleaning rain from his glasses on a thin cloth, eyes trained on you as his fingers work with experienced lightness at the lenses. You realize you haven’t seen him without his glasses in any medium, whether in a photograph by Prince Noctis’ side or in person, and the reveal of his full features nearly knocks the breath out of you. His cheekbones are sharp and elegant, and the cupid’s bow of his gently curving lips surely would make any woman jealous. His brows are perfect, gods damn it. If he does groom them he certainly makes it look effortless. What strikes you most though are his eyes, no longer flattened by the prescription of his glasses. They cant delicately, and if without the contrast of rest of his chiseled features they would almost be feminine. The green of them has even more depth now unfiltered, bright and curving in the grey light.

You’re knocked out of your reverie when Ignis moves to resituate his glasses. You’ve been staring. You scramble for words and hope you aren’t blushing.

“Yeah! Yeah, it wasn’t far from the station at all.”

“I’m sorry you had to walk any distance in the rain. I should have offered to pick you up from the station.”

You remember the close quarters of his car and the sound of his even breathing.

“Nooooo. I was already so close to here, I would have just been waiting at the station wasting time. Besides, I don’t mind the rain.”

“I recall. But this is the second time I’ve failed to hold an umbrella for you and on principle this rubs me the wrong way.” He smiles broadly at you and your stomach drops. You’re saved from trying to answer him by hearing the barista call your name. The momentary relief of excusing yourself from Ignis’ proximity is immediately eclipsed by a rush of anxiety as you look at your order on the counter and remember what exactly you’d purchased.

“You’re fond of Ebony too? I knew I’d chosen good company.” Ignis is taking a stride past you toward the register, looking like he’s about to order his own.

“A-actually, well…” You stutter and lose your nerve, but you’ve already got his attention. He pauses and turns, eyes lifted expectantly. You swallow. No backing out now. “I uh…This is for you.” You hold the plated mug out to him, daring to make eye contact. Ignis’ brows raise in a small moment of genuine surprise.

“For me?”

“I uh…yeah.” You flounder. “As…as thanks.”

Ignis takes a long stride toward you and gently takes the coffee from your outstretched hands.

“As thanks for what?” He asks, warmly smiling like the heat and scent from the Ebony in his hands is filtering through him and into his demeanor.

“F-for the—” You stutter. You wish your own mug of coffee had arrived as well, at least then you could pause to think while taking a sip. “You know, for the…the…this.” You say, gesturing at the surrounding establishment. Ignis’ brows knit softly but he retains his gentle smile.

“Come again?”

You wish you had thought to bring your dagger so you could warp away. Your words have such little coherence that Ignis can’t pick up and put together the pieces of what you’re trying to say. The flush in your cheeks is one of hot embarrassment. You decide to be concise to try and save face, but don’t think about the implications of your words before you’ve already spoken.

“As thanks for your company.”

Ignis’ brows raise once more, taken aback slightly. You find yourself being studied in that moment, suddenly vulnerable, your muddled words and mixed feelings all of a sudden under the tactician’s consideration, standing tall and striking before you in the small space. It’s only a moment, not even half a breath, but there’s still a heartbeat where you’ve unintentionally laid yourself bare under his precise scrutiny and the feeling of being unexpectedly naked has you begging the Gods that this is a dream and you’ll wake from this mortifying fumble.

“Thank you,” Ignis interrupts your thought spiral and shifts his weight, a broad smile igniting his features. “And, you’re welcome. If indeed you find my company to be at such a premium, I’ll gladly accept the payment.”

Astrals. You don’t know what to say. You need to say something.

“I just figured yours is pretty valuable time, is all. And you’re…you know…spending it with m-me.”

Ignis chuckles and the sound is like chimes.

“You overestimate the amount of important action I encounter on a given day at the Citadel. Most of my days not long ago were spent merely cleaning Noct’s apartment, and to be frank, cleaning up after the Prince has yet to leave my list of duties. But,” He tilts his head just slightly, lowering his gaze to yours. “that’s hardly conversation done justice when told standing up, is it? Would you like to sit at the bar or a table?”

You remember the graceful way he held himself on the barstool at Constellationyesterday when he first spoke with you.

“…Table.”

“Lady’s choice, then.” Ignis smiles and gestures at the small seating area, indicating you should choose where you would prefer to sit. There’s not a booth in the shop, all of tables intimately small and flanked by two chairs facing each other. Of course they are. It would be weird to change your mind and sit at the bar now. In that moment your name is called again so you have a blessed few seconds to step away from Ignis and collect both your wits and your espresso.

 

You choose a table next to a wide window, a sheet of glass stretching nearly floor-to-ceiling and giving a rain-streaked view of the street outside. Maybe if you aren’t boxed against a wall, you won’t fumble so much. Maybe the illusion of having an easy exit should you feel like running will just nip that instinct in the bud. Ignis sets his coffee down on the hammered copper of the tabletop and moves to pull the chair out for you, the soft grey light from the large window casting highlights across his beauty and points of light through his eyes.

You realize you’ve utterly failed in your mission to put your crush to rest meeting Ignis here.

Seated across from Ignis you’re finding yourself trying to sit straighter. Though his own posture is relaxed and reclining, he’s just so lithe and elegant that he seems constantly poised. You deliberately look away when he takes the first sip of his warm Ebony and his Adam’s apple shifts in his throat as he swallows. Gods, you’re a wreck.

“I-Ignis,” You begin, not entirely sure where your sentence is leading you, but if you’re in this for the long haul you feel you should know why it began.

“Yes?”

“I-I know you mentioned that it’s not great table conversation, and it’s probably none of my business anyway since it’s royal stuff, but…you said that you decided to go out on your own last night because you didn’t want to do whatever the Prince and his other retainers wanted to do.”

Understanding flashes across his features and he lowers his mug.

“I suppose it is curious why I left such a reasonable question unanswered, isn’t it?” He chuckles dryly. “Would you be so kind as to tell me a little about yourself first, though?”

“I mean, there’s not a whole lot to tell. I’m just a Glaive—”

“Hardly ‘just,’” Ignis cuts in. “Like I said before, I’m filled with awe at what the Kingsglaive has voluntarily undertaken. Your service to the Crown is driven by a desire to protect Lucis outside of obligation, unlike mine. Though were I given a choice, I would still choose the path I tread now.” He says this fondly, a relaxed smile playing at his features. “It’s far more admirable to choose this life than to be born to it.”

You can’t help the swell of pride and gratitude that bubbles up through your chest, painting a wide smile on your face.

“That’s…that’s really kind of you. I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about m—about the Kingsglaive.”

“Indeed.”

“I was actually worried about that,” You speak without thinking, and when Ignis raises a brow inquisitively you realize you now need to clarify to him your battle with the dark undercurrent in your brain. You flush. “I-it’s just, I’ve…I’ve been a little reluctant to…be seen with you.” The twinge of hurt that draws Ignis’ features together has your heart in knots. “I-i-it’s just…I was thinking so much about rank and how much closer to the royal family you are, I guess I didn’t stop to think about how you might just, you know, feel about it. I thought it would be silly to spend time with the Prince’s royal advisor, but,” You drop your gaze to your coffee on the table and look up at him through your lashes. “I guess the only opinion that matters is yours, and if you think I’m that cool then, well,”

Unsure how to finish your sentence with words, in a moment of improvisational madness you lift your mug of coffee up and toward Ignis across the table. Immediately he grins and lifts his own to clink against yours. You each take a long sip and your heart pounds with adrenaline, flabbergasted that that went over so well. Ignis looks at you over the rim of his mug, no longer drinking but resting his lips to the edge of the beaten bronze and eyeing you.

“To answer your question,” He says slowly, lowering his coffee to the table. “I first must know how familiar you are with Noct’s closest companions.”

You begin to realize his explanation might be a complicated one, which would make sense why he was reluctant to speak about it.

“I suppose not very,” You say truthfully. “I know he’s got a shield from the Amicitia family just like all the previous Lucian princes, and of course I know about you. I hear he’s got a sort of pen pal in Lady Nox Fleuret, but other than that…” You trail off.

“It’s good you know of Gladio; his master planning of the evening is behind why I declined to accompany the Prince. You know what he looks like?”

You scan your memory for photos or footage and come up with images of a towering and rugged man, dark-haired and imposing and undeniably attractive.

“I do. He’s trouble?”

“Only when it comes to women,” Ignis laughs wryly. “Noct has a close civilian friend I doubt you’d know, but he’s far less…adept with the subject. Gladio thought playing the wingman for him for the night would be great fun.”

“Wait, the Prince—” You hush suddenly and glance around. The patronage is small and the music is loud enough to cover your words to anyone not eavesdropping, but you realize it might be sensitive information Ignis is divulging to you. You lower your voice as you continue incredulously, “The Prince went out to pick up chicks?”

Ignis’ shoulders loosen and he laughs genuinely. “Noct, no. He’s hardly interested in courting women, especially with his—” He stops suddenly, as if debating to share something with you. “…investment in Lady Nox Fleuret. Unfortunately for a future King however, he has a spectator’s disposition. He also felt Prompto could use some encouragement should it be needed; he tends to show his love for his close ones in silent ways such as that.”

You can almost feel the waves of adoration for the Prince radiating from Ignis as a soft smile smoothes his features. You love all of your fellow Glaives, surely, but in this moment you realize how pale a comparison what you share with them is to the bond Ignis and Prince Noctis have. It’s fierce and devout and unconditional. You think back briefly to the conversation you had with Crowe where you thought deeply about your duty to be willing to give your life for Insomnia or the Crown or Ignis should it be necessary. You see now that Ignis doesn’t have such thoughts, not really. He _is_ his duty to the Crown. To die for Prince Noctis would be like taking a breath, as simple and natural as anything.

You suddenly feel a twist of shame in your heart. Of course nothing would ever come to fruition with Ignis, but now you see just how absurd your little crush is. There’s no place for something like you in a life as devoted elsewhere as his. Ignis continues and shakes you from your sad thoughts.

“As it were, I’m merely the Prince’s advisor. I’ve no obligation to go along into the city when his shield is present, much less when Noct himself is taking no part in anything that would call for my deft judgement to assist him. And Prompto,” He dangles his sentence for a moment. “Prompto is so very energetic. He adores Noct and has my trust, but a whole evening dedicated to…well…” He flushes a little and your mouth goes dry between sips of coffee. “…’getting him laid’ as Gladio so delicately put it just doesn’t appeal to me.”

You can’t help yourself.

“Well…did it work?”

Ignis chuckles.

“Not to my knowledge. Not for lack of trying on Gladio’s part, I’m sure. Prompto’s quick to fall in love but gets too rattled to lay down the framework for where to take his feelings from there.”

It’s your turn to say something. You’ve spent enough time with Ignis now to know there’s no plausibility for a woman in his life. Doubtless that’s another reason why he declined to go out with the group, sure when Prompto choked and bowed out, the wingman would take to finding a girl for Ignis instead, who certainly had no time for or interest in such things. You feel those twin stabs of shame and sadness again, but knowing you, you need to hear him vocalize what you’ve deduced about him or this dumb infatuation would never go away.

…It’s your turn to say something. You take a breath to steady yourself and prepare for rejection.

“And what about you?”

Ignis tilts his head slightly, peering at you, studying you. His intense gaze makes your legs jitter under the small table.

“What about me?”

“…Are you quick to fall in love?”

His brows rise above the frames of his glasses.

“Quite a personal inquiry.” He shifts in his seat. Oh Gods, oh no, you’ve made him uncomfortable. You’re about to begin apologizing and brushing off your comment when he speaks again: “To be completely truthful, I don’t know. There’s never been an opportunity in my life to seek such things and learn about myself that way. I was introduced into His Highness’ life at the age of six, after all.”

You let out the breath you’ve been holding. There it was: he is far too busy with the Prince to have attachments outside of his line of duty. Now you can put this whole thing behind you and—

“However,” You look up from your coffee, startled as he continues what you thought was the end of the conversation. “It’s not that I’m disinterested, or even that it’s an impossibility for me to seek romantic fulfillment. I’ve watched figures with exponentially complex lives like King Regis and Clarus Amicitia have families and raise children while upholding their own heavy responsibilities. Mine is not a notably noble bloodline; perhaps I simply was not raised by those who can juggle such things, andthus I couldn’t learn the secret to it early.”

He’s been idly swirling the last of his coffee in the bottom of his mug, perhaps finding it easier to speak on this matter while watching the hypnotic rhythm of the dark liquid rather than looking at you. At this moment though, he brings the mug to his lips and swallows the last of his drink, and setting it down he makes eye contact with you again and says:

“Why do you ask?”

You feel the color drain from your face. You have not thought this part through.The unutterable explanation “Because I fell in love easily” foggily surfaces in your mind. You open and close your mouth, stuttering, all while unable to look away from Ignis’ intense gaze. You watch him pick you apart in his mind as you scramble for an answer, and again that feeling of sudden nakedness in his presence makes your heart sputter.

You’re saved by the bell quite literally as your phone chimes in your pocket. It’s the alarm you’ve set for yourself on work days to let you know it’s time to head back from lunch. You stand quickly.

“Oh wow, look at that. I’ve got to get back to base,” You say, pulling your phone from your pocket and silencing the alarm, disregarding your unfinished coffee. Ignis stands with you, you suspect partly because he’s finished drinking his coffee and partly because of his archaically formal disposition.

“Allow me to drive you back,” He begins, but you’re already hurriedly declining.

“No, no, that’s okay. What’s the point of a monthly train pass if you don’t use it, right?”

“Well, at least finish your—”

You scoop the mug up and chug the remaining coffee standing right there, swiftly replacing it on the table with a loud clank of metal-on-metal.

“This is a really neat place, Ignis. Thank you for inviting me!”

“O-Of course…” He watches you hurriedly collect your things almost curiously.

“I’ll see you around the Citadel, I’m sure!”

“Yes…take care,” He says almost in a daze. You have neither the time nor capacity to dwell on his unusual manner and you turn on your heel, striding across the coffee bar with no break in your pace to push open the door and head down the street toward the train station.

As you pound your way down the street, not running but certainly getting breathless, you realize you forgot your umbrella at Enable. The rain is gentle at the moment but the clouds are bound to open at the drop of a hat. Not about to turn around and go back for it, you write your umbrella off as a casualty of the day and quickly formulate a plan to pick up a new one at the corner store near your home after finishing your training.

The station nearing, you fumble in your bag for your train pass, pushing strands of steadily dampening hair from your forehead. Crowe would be absolutely disgusted with you. Sorting your shit out is the last thing you accomplished here. You consider writing yourself off as a casualty of the day as well as you swipe your pass and board the train back to the Citadel.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ask for your patience over the course of the next few chapters, as they don't feature Ignis, proper (I'll be posting them fairly close together so we can get back to more best boy content). The reason for this is I felt that the Reader would need a confidant to talk to about Ignis. In the past, I've never pursued a crush without first talking to a close friend about it, so it made sense for the Reader to do the same here. Sirius is an OC of mine who actually used to play the role Crowe now does, but after deciding to swap her out and still wanting her to make an appearance, it made sense for her to be a close friend of the Reader who lends an ear when a jam sesh is needed. In other words: because Sirius isn't a canon character, feel free to paste your bff's face onto her and hash it out about Ignis!

You prefer the even days to the odd; weight training requires more intense focus than endurance running, during which you find you can easily slide into daydreams, lulled by the tempo of your feet and breath. Daydreaming—or really thinking at all—is the last thing you want to do right now.

Sweat gathers along your hairline and collarbones as you push against the weight on your shoulders, standing from a squat and lifting two-thirds your bodyweight in heavy iron plates. After locking your knees, you push breath into your diaphragm and lower the weight again. Leg day sucks. But damn if you aren’t strong because of it, and it’s certainly keeping you physically taxed enough to not think about what happened over your lunch break.

You really steered yourself wrong, straight into the inky undertow which yesterday you couldn’t name. Yesterday at least you were afloat. Today, you know that undercurrent is a girlish crush on the Royal Advisor, and you are the dead captain in the shipwreck at the bottom of it.

Feeling these chastisements flit through your mind you shake your head and wipe your sweat away. There’s your indication that you’re ready for another set. You position yourself under the bar once more and lift, relieved that the physical weight can momentarily alleviate the weight of your thoughts.

 

As soon as your training ends a couple hours later however, you’re left without escape as you shower off. The hissing of the water is like white noise, the steam like a grey blanket all around you, and you suddenly realize you’re in a sort of sensory deprivation chamber, cutting off almost all external input to your thoughts. What a terrible irony.

You sigh, clutching your arms to yourself. Their sudden manifestation impacting their significance or no, these feelings are there. Avoiding them won’t do any good. Best to try and figure them out head on, you guess. You step from the shower and begin to towel off your hair, letting your mind wander in an attempt to map your thoughts. Maybe with some kind of roadmap of your feelings and some vocabulary you can actually do what you’d promised Crowe and sort your shit out.

You look at yourself in the long mirror as you pull on your underclothes absentmindedly, deep in thought. Crush. That’s such a juvenile way of putting it. You’ve already upbraided yourself for harboring the senseless feelings on their own, calling the group of them such a childish term just makes you disdain all the more the way they’ve taken root in you. But disdain won’t do you any good. Time to think like a Glaive; time to problem solve.

You gather up your things into your bag and heave it over your shoulder, waving goodbye to some of the other women still lingering in the changing quarters. As you walk through the halls toward the exit closest to the train, you stuff your headphones into your ears and play something loud and angsty from your phone.

You’d been counting on two things to help put your feelings to rest: You expected Ignis to scoff at the idea of dating, and you’d figured his towering-above-yours status as Advisor to the Prince would nip in the bud any fanciful ideations you’d had. You’d misjudged to say the least, steering yourself from piqued appreciation straight into fully fledged infatuation over the course of a day. Spending just that small amount of interpersonal time with Ignis over coffee, however casual or platonic the original intent, has you sunk deep into this mire of mixed emotions. As you board the train, music loud and eyes cast to the floor, you create for yourself another sense of isolation with your thoughts, attempting to keep yourself from at least sinking further.

The thrum of the train makes your body buzz evenly, and it’s soporific. You shake your head; the last thing you want right now is to slip into sleep with this turmoil on your mind, shaping your dreams. Your phone vibrating in your bag at your side makes your heart race, but to your mixed relief it’s a friend’s name across the banner of your phone, inviting you to dinner with a group of other Glaives. You find you have think about this carefully, both pragmatically and emotionally: You’ve already blown a lot of money on the impromptu work night party at Constellation yesterday, and going out spontaneously is what thrust you into this confusion and infatuation with Ignis, so repeating that maneuver isn’t an immediately welcome move at present.

But you are hungry, and you might be able to seek out fellow Glaives’ guiding words, like what Crowe said, if not as harsh. Plus it’s at a place that you know is pretty cheap and has food you like, and is on the way to your home no less. You sigh, accepting the invitation and taking it as a sign that you’re meant to take a break from yourself tonight. You don’t feel like cooking dinner anyway.

 

 

It’s less of a restaurant and more of a food truck-turned-cafe, but it’s got the best kebobs this side of the wall. As such, there’s no indoor seating, but the rain has remained light and the small tented patio is heated and dry. You can still see the faded ghost of what the food truck used to be named before it moved from its wheels and onto a raised ramshackle foundation that almost certainly isn’t up to code. It used to be called “Standing-Room Skewers,” presumably because without anywhere to sit the kebobs were meant to be eaten on the go. But now with its foundation in place and menu expanded, it’s been renamed “Respite and Bite.”

“Over here, Senpai!”

You’re hailed and waved over by the friend who invited you, a fellow Glaive named Sirius. She joined the Kingsglaive during the same recruitment period as you, but a bout of pneumonia shortly after being accepted forced her to postpone truly beginning her training until the next induction of new Glaives. Because of this you aren’t together for training, and she’s jokingly taken to calling you “Senpai.”

Both cocking a brow, the other Glaives with her turn to see who Sirius declared as such, and it makes your cheeks flush to have so much attention on you. You recognize the pair as Nyx and Libertus, two of the veteran Glaives Crowe had introduced you to earlier. Again, Nyx’s eyes seem just a little sad as they glance over you, but it’s quickly dispelled this time as he raises a forearm to you.

“That’s cute. It’s nice to run into you again.” He says with a grin as you bump your arm to his. You slide a plastic chair out for yourself, needing to look at the menu but feeling like sitting with the group for a moment.

“Likewise. Though Crowe’s not here?”

“She said she’d come later,” Chimes Libertus, chuckling. “But I think she might have been bluffing. This place doesn’t have beer so her reasons for joining up with us just got halved.”

“I see,” You say. You’re torn between disappointment and relief, not wanting to have to admit to Crowe that you just added to your shit pile. Changing the subject you add, “I didn’t know you knew Sirius.”

“I do. Libertus doesn’t.” Nyx says before taking a bite of his burger and forcing Libertus to finish his sentence.

“She was paired with him for training last week as his trainee. I didn’t meet her until just now, but we’re all family anyway.”

“It’s nice to have friends who are veterans, you can learn all the tricks of the trade faster,” Sirius says to you with a grin. “I wanna catch up to you, after all.”

“She got the best teacher of the bunch paired with me, really.” Nyx shrugs. “They rotate us out as we’re needed on missions and stuff, but I’d bet my fine ass that I’m the coolest coach you’ve had this week, right Sirius?”

“Oh Gods, there’s a hero’s ego.” Libertus rolls his eyes.

“Oh come on, Crowe’s not even here to take offense, you don’t have to do it for her, Libertus.”

You smile and stand, announcing you’re going to go order something.

“I’ll go with you, I haven’t ordered yet either.” Sirius pushes her chair back and joins you in the few paces to the line to order, leaving Libertus and Nyx to playfully argue.

“What tricks of the trade are you learning exactly, Sirius?” You ask, glancing over the menu despite being near certain that you’ll order a kebob.

“To be honest, Nyx isn’t lying when he boasts, but he can be pretty reckless in the field,” Sirius leans into you as she confides. “Though it seems to me that the situation we find ourselves in is going to call for recklessness at some point or another. I figure, better learn where the line is, you know? I need to know my limits so when the time comes for me to do something stupid, I can get away with it.”

“You mean get out alive?”

“That too.”

You cast a worried glance her way as you step forward in line.

“We can’t afford to lose any Glaives, Sirius.” You say, lowering you tone.

“That’s exactly my point!” She exclaims emphatically. “Would you rather do what you had to and die or do what you had to and live? Nyx might have an ego, but he isn’t just talk; he knows how to toe that line. He mentioned getting in trouble before for it, but he saved lives. I want to be a Glaive like that.” She shrugs.

“…I guess you’ve got me there,” You say, mulling over her sentiment. “So, if you found yourself in like…a pretty stupid situation, what would you do?”

“Well, I need more than _that_.” She chuckles, but the person in front of you vacates the order window so you need to put your inquiry on hold as you do in fact ask for a garula kabob.

Returning to the little table with your skewers in hand, you see that Crowe and several other Glaives did end up joining the group, though it seems Crowe is a little huffy about it. She gives a wide, fake yawn, and Nyx pokes his fork onto her tongue, startling her.

“What the hell, Nyx!”

“Come on Crowe, you showed up, don’t be a brat about being here.”

“Someone begged me to show.” She gives a pointed look at Libertus, who shrugs.

“I figured you needed dinner. I know you’re crap at cooking.”

“Yes, thank you, _nii-san_.” She says with clear condescension, then notices you and Sirius approaching the table.

“Hi Crowe,” You chirp as you set your plate down and pull out a chair next to her.

“Hey kiddo,” She says, not quite as condescendingly. “Who’s your friend?”

“I’m Sirius,” She extends her hand and Crowe bumps her fist to hers. “I’m new, but I’m technically in the same class as this one,” She nudges your shoulder and you smile amicably.

“Well don’t keep standing on my account. I’m going to go get something greasy.” Crowe stands and indicates Sirius should take her vacant seat next to you. Nyx and Libertus are in heated conversation with the split handful of other Glaives Crowe has brought with her. You recognize Luche’s face, but he’s deep in conversation and you don’t want to interrupt to greet him properly.

“So, what’s this stupid thing?” Sirius says as she sits next to you.

“Huh?”

“The thing. You asked in line if I was in a stupid situation, what would I do?”

“Oh, right—” You say, pulled from enjoying the present company and running your ship aground once again. You think carefully about how much to tell Sirius. This could be sensitive information; the Royal Advisor doesn’t have as many eyes on him as some, but definitely a few watchful gazes are present. “I guess I could use some advice.”

“Mhmm?” Sirius urges you on with a mouth full of kebob. You look at your own, suddenly not as hungry as you thought you were.

“It’s complicated.”

“No bodies?”

“No.”

“Then how complicated can it possibly be?”

You let out your breath, coupled with a soft laugh.

“I guess you’re right,” You take a bite of your kebob to give you a moment to think. “Gods this is good. How do they get the carrots to taste like meat?” You say with your mouth half full.

“I think they use umami.” Sirius shrugs, munching loudly. “Anyway, go on?”

“Well, if you were to find yourself, I guess—” You click your tongue, but continue, “—into someone against your will and better judgement, what would you do?”

“Why is it against my will and better judgement?”

“Say you figured he wouldn’t be able to reciprocate but it turns out he sort of can, I guess.”

“Great, good for me.” She shrugs taking another bite.

“No I mean, you were counting on that impossibility knocking some sense into you, but it backfired.”

“Why is it senseless if the guy’s down? Or I guess down to be down. Emotionally available.”

“I guess…”

“So then why is it against my will and better judgement?”

“I guess…because…” You try to phrase the status gap between you and Ignis without revealing his identity. “…he’s out of your league?”

“Wow, okay.” Sirius lowers her kebob and wipes her mouth with a napkin, training her gaze on you. “The hypotheticals are annoying, I’m sure for both of us. It sounds like you need to vent and here probably isn’t the best place, right? Walk me home after this and we’ll talk on the way.”

Startled you stare at her, meeting her cool, even gaze. She isn’t messing around, but she’s still smiling cheekily at you.

“O-Oh, yeah…sure.”

“We’ll have a feelings jam after dinner. Your food would get cold otherwise and these don’t reheat well.” She cocks a gentle but knowing brow at you and your shoulders slump.

“Yeah. Thanks, Sirius.”

“I got you, Senpai.” She shrugs and licks her fingers.

“You girls failing the Bechtel test over here?” Crowe returns to the table with a plate stacked high with fries.

“That’s not fair, Crowe,” Sirius says with a laugh. “We were just having some girl talk.” Unknowingly calling back to Crowe’s stern words to you earlier, Sirius’ sentence makes your stomach plummet. Crowe shifts her gaze from Sirius to you and raises a brow.

“My advice not cutting it?”

“I’m trying Crowe,” You scramble, “I took it to heart, I really did.”

“Good,” She says, stuffing several fries in her mouth at once as she circles the table to a vacant chair, and that appears to be the end of it. Sirius glances at you, knowing she missed something but not pressing it. You sigh, making a note to fill her in on the walk back to her home that you’d told Crowe you would ‘sort your shit out’ and definitely let her down.

Crowe sets her plate of fries on the table and pulls a chair out next to Libertus, who pauses in his conversation with the Glaives next to him to give Crowe’s dinner a horrified look.

“Is that all you’re eating, Crowe?”

“I said I wanted something greasy. You wanna buy me something else?”

“I mean, I will—”

“Yes Libertus, this is all I’m eating.” Crowe fits a handful of fries into her mouth, indicating that’s the end of the deliberation.


	7. Chapter 7

Full of kebob, you and Sirius stand to leave the party of Glaives first, the discourse waiting to be had between the two of you taking precedence over chatting with your seniors.Crowe gives you a meaningful glance as you bid her farewell, forearms brushing.

“I’m going to bring it harder next time.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Damn right you will.”

As you circle the table, Nyx actually stands with his arms outstretched.

“Crowe kicking your ass makes you as familiar as anything. Bring it in, kiddo. You too, newbie.”

As both of you hug Nyx, Crowe scoffs.

“Softie.”

“Shut up or I’m hugging you next.”

“I dare you.”

“Crowe, come on,” Libertus says placatingly. “You know we love you.”

“I’m not the hugging type.”

“We’ll see once these two have had their fill,” Nyx says, patting you and Sirius on the heads. Crowe rolls her eyes, but Nyx just laughs.

 

After you and Sirius have finished saying goodbye and leave the tented patio, as you round a corner you can hear Nyx yell “Ow, what the fuck!” The two of you snicker into your hands.

 

Sirius doesn’t live far from Respite and Bite, and the rain has subsided for the time being, clouds broken from their misty blanket into clumps, recollecting higher in the sky for what your weather app predicts will be a torrential downpour tomorrow afternoon. You silently curse as you remember you hadn’t picked up a new umbrella, the corner store very much closed by now. Maybe you can ask Sirius if she has an extra one you can borrow.

“So what’s going on, exactly?” Sirius’ voice shakes you from your line of thought. You need to ponder your answer for a moment.

“I’m not entirely sure.”

“Well that’s a lie.”

Well she’s not wrong. You still bristle at her brusqueness and clutch the bridge of your nose. You guess if Ignis was content to be seen in public with you, you can at least divulge to Sirius that much.

“I might have bumped into Prince Noctis’ Royal Advisor yesterday.”

“Mhm.” She urges you to continue with a blasé noise you aren’t expecting. It makes you fumble.

“And…long story very short, he more or less asked to…be friends, I think?”

“Uhuh.”

You attempt to give her an annoyed sideways glance, but she’s got her eyes trained on the steps the two of you are climbing to the next street.

“So I think he’s trying to find people to hang out with outside of the Prince and his other retainers because of—“ You pause, and decline to mention the circumstances under which Ignis ended up at Constellation. “…wanting to be closer with the Kingsglaive, so he can be a better advisor when it comes to us.”

“Go on.”

“B-but…I fucked up.”

Sirius flicks her gaze to yours, finally.

“How do you manage to define getting confirmation that Ignis Scientia—the gorgeous, rich, well-mannered hand to the Prince—is on the market as 'fucking up?’”

You nearly stumble at her bluntness. You guess she’s a better listener than you give her credit for if she was able to deduce the outcome of your afternoon outing with your patchy hypothetical of an explanation over dinner.

“Well that’s not the fucking up part, though I guess it would have made it a lot _easier_ not to fuck up if that weren’t the case.” You roll your eyes and Sirius’ brows knit together.

“So what is?”

“I guess because like… I’ve been letting this…this weird crush get to me. I was training with Crowe earlier, and she knew something was distracting me. She was right, I’m a Glaive, I can’t afford to be distracted like this, much less over something so pointless. Then over coffee, I-I just made it worse,” Your words start to lose cohesion as you near Sirius’ apartment. She watches you carefully, but doesn’t interrupt or ask you to clarify. “Like I met him yesterday! It’s stupid to feel so fucking starry-eyed, and even more stupid because…because…Sirius why would he be interested in _me?”_ You finally admit, both to Sirius and to yourself, what’s really been fueling your apprehension.

“Hey, hey…” Sirius turns you toward her and levels her gaze to yours. “First of all, shut the hell up with that garbage. Anybody would be lucky to have you.”

You laugh reluctantly, sniffling as you feel frustrated tears start to gather.

“Thanks,”

“Just a fact. Second of all, why is this so important to you?”

You’re taken aback by this, not a question you were expecting.

“What do you mean?”

“Well if you actually thought this was pointless, you wouldn’t be so worried about it. I know you well enough, you’re as good a Glaive as any, you know when there’s no point to a fight. But you’re torn the hell up about this. Obviously you care. Why?”

You flick your gaze to the ground for a moment, thinking. The memory of Ignis kissing your hand surfaces and you swallow.

“Because…I guess…I wasn’t expecting this…these _feelings_ to be…validated?”

“Mhm?” She urges.

“I kind of got swept up in what I thought was a sort of…hopeless thing, but, I guess it isn’t. And because of that well, I…I don’t know what to do.”

At this, Sirius grins.

“Well, to answer your question from earlier,” She says, resuming her pace and fishing her house key out of her bag. “If I found myself in a stupid situation like this, here’s what I would do:” You climb the few steps to the front of her apartment building and watch as she turns her key in the lock, a solid _thunk_ rattling the frame.

“Hm?”

“I’d go for it.”

“Sirius—”

“Do you really think he looks down on you for being just a Glaive?”

Ignis’ sentiment from earlier about how honorable he thought your position pulses through your mind.

“…I know he doesn’t.”

“So what do you have to lose? The worst that’ll happen is he’ll say no thank you.” She shrugs as she puts her keys away. “The best that’ll happen is you’ll get laid.”

“Sirius!”

“All I’m saying is you asked me what I would do, and that’s my answer.” She laughs as she opens her door. You sigh heavily.

“Guess I got a lot to think about.”

“No, no. You’ve done the thinking part already.”

“But—”

“Where’s the lie, Senpai?”

You bite back a retort, and you watch as Sirius sees you do so and gives you a snarky grin, followed by a wink.

“Stop that.”

“By the way, what advice did Crowe give you? About girl talk?”

You hang your head.

“She just told me to sort my shit out.”

“Well it sounds like it’s sorted to me.” She shrugs. “I’ve given you my advice as well. I think you can count quenching your thirst as getting your shit sorted.”

“Sirius, for Gods’ sakes!” Your hands flutter in the air and her grin widens.

“Where’s the lie though.”

“Oh come on, go home already!” You shoo her farther into her house.

“Goodnight, _Senpai._ ”

“GO AWAY.”

Sirius closes her front door but you can hear her snickering behind it.

 

As you pace back to the nearest train station, her sentiment thrums through your mind. You don’t know what to do about this crush on Ignis now that it’s suddenly been revealed to you as not entirely implausible. Sirius’ framing of her take on it makes you blush, but she’s not wrong how obvious a next move attempting to go forward with your feelings would be. You chew on your lip. You know now Ignis doesn’t think of your gap in rank as indicative of respective worth or consideration, you know now he hasn’t completely disregarded the idea of…you flush as you think the words ‘falling in love.’

Maybe you are just being kind of an idiot about this, you think as you swipe your train card. As you do so, you feel a few raindrops patter onto the top of your head and soak into your hair. You realize in your flustered disengagement with Sirius’ discussion on Ignis you forgot to ask if you could borrow an umbrella.

You’re still a wreck, it seems.


	8. Chapter 8

The persistence of your alarm, of course the quality necessary for any good alarm, aggravates you this morning more than warranted. You’re tangled in your sheets, indicative of your tossing and turning the night before. Your dreams have been filed beyond your immediate recollection, but there’s a flutter in your stomach and you can guess what they were about. You slam your hand down on the snooze button and bury your face into your pillow.

Thunder, distant but unmistakable thrums through the early morning silence, and you remember you don’t have a damn umbrella. With an audible groan, you kick the sheets off yourself with some difficulty and slide off your bed. You suppose you can leave early and swing by Enable to pick up your umbrella. You’d rather do that than buy a new one; you are kind of fond of your own for a tongue-in-cheek reason. You shuffle to your kitchen and poke through your breakfast items, settling on a bowl of granola.

 

 

It isn’t raining hard yet, but regardless the short, swift walk to Enable from your first stop on the train quickly soaks your hair and shoulders. As you near the entrance and pause under the awning you’re suddenly struck with the realization that if this is where Ignis stops for coffee, you could easily bump into him now. Now, undercaffinated and damp at the end of your week after a restless night. You glance at your reflection and your stomach knots. It shows. You shake your head and refocus to peer through the glass of the door. After scanning the seats and not finding a bespectacled tactician occupying any of them you open the door, breathing a small sigh resting somewhere between relief and disappointment.

Your umbrella isn’t in the stand by the door, and cocking a brow you step in line to ask the barista—different than the boy behind the counter yesterday afternoon—if there’s a lost and found.

“There is! I can check for you really quick. What are you missing?”

“My umbrella. I left it here yesterday by accident.”

“And what’s it look like?”

“Like uh…black with some like…ruffles? Pink ruffles?”

He chirps and disappears behind the counter, shuffling through what sounds like a shoebox stuffed with odds and ends. You exhale. You’ve never needed to _describe_ your umbrella. It’s embarrassing now that you think about it. The young barista surfaces with an unpromising expression.

“Sorry, nothing like that.”

You’re taken aback. Could it be someone took it?

“You’re serious?”

“Yeah, no umbrellas. My apologies. Would you like to order anything, though?”

“O-Oh, um…” Caught off guard, you speak before you can think. “…An Ebony to-go, please.”

 

You clutch your coffee as the train pierces through the deluge, gathering strength by the minute. You don’t mind the rain, but you aren’t a fan of being needlessly soaked. You shift your gaze away from the window and eye your to-go cup. In a moment of uncertainty you’d blurted to the barista that you wanted Ebony, when in fact you’ve never had it before. You roll your eyes, the dots of your subconscious easy to connect.

Tentatively you bring the cup to your lips and sip. It is the blackest coffee you’ve ever tasted. You try not to screw up your face but Gods, this is bitter like medicine. An acquired taste to say the least, and though you in truth know little about Ignis, it regardless makes sense to you that this inedible liquid would be his favorite, to the extent that he stows away cans of it in his car. The memory paints a small grin across your features and your stomach flips.

 

By the time you arrive at your stop it is pouring in earnest. You hold your bag over your head and rush from the train to the tunnel that you’d follow to the Kingsglaive quarter of the Citadel grounds. It’s a cold rain, no less, and though you managed to stay mostly dry for now, the distance between where the tunnel lets out and where you report for the day is formidable when you have no protection against weather like this.

 

You almost have to wring your hair out once you finally step foot into the heated Glaive changing room. Your uniform hanging in your locker is dry of course, but unless you’re instructed to do otherwise you still need to report for training out in the rain, and then you’ll just have two wet outfits to choose from for your trip home.

Setting your still-hot, still-full cup of Ebony down by your things, you enter the code for your locker. It’s a privacy protocol you find pretty unnecessary; you doubt any of your things would go missing here, amongst your fellow Glaives. Your bag buzzes by your feet and you shuffle through its contents and fish out your phone. Immediately your mouth goes dry.

 

“ _Good Morning. Should you have a moment, would you come by my quarters at the Citadel today? I have something of yours.”_

 

…No way. Really? You swallow, pieces falling into place. You aren’t too eager to see him so soon after your clumsy, flushed escape from his company yesterday, the embarrassment still fresh. On the other hand, you now suspect he scooped up your umbrella from Enable on his way out yesterday and retrieving it is really the only move you can make. Plus…Sirius’ advice to you surfaces in your mind, a rough but inarguably sturdy raft you can clutch to help navigate these unknown waters. Nervous but brave, you reply.

 

_“I can come rn, actually. I’m here early and I still have 40 mins or so before I need to report. How do I get there?”_

 

 

Not wanting to keep Ignis waiting and short on time as it is, you had aborted your clothing change and are striding through the long halls of the Citadel’s inner rings in a shirt made sheer by the rain, clutching your neglected coffee for warmth. You’ve never been to this part of the Citadel. Even as a Glaive, there are only so many places you have any business going. The elevators in this part of the building are nicer, you note as one carries you up the long stretch to the floor Ignis had indicated. You glance in one of the mirrors lining the elevator and blanch. Presentability had taken a backseat to punctuality, and you’re not certain that was the best decision. There’s no time to dwell on that though, as the doors open smoothly and a soft chime sounds, indicating that this is where you’re meant to be.

Ignis had referred to this place as his “quarters,” but what that actually entails you have no idea. The most personal space you have here is your locker in the women’s changing room in the Glaive wing of the Citadel, but being the right hand of the Prince, maybe Ignis’ position really does call for him to live where he works.

You approach the door marked not with a name, but a symbol. You immediately recognize the Lucis Caelum family crest, but it’s bound by a thin triangle and the shape has been impressed upon the door in a manner that almost makes it seem scorched into the wood. Upon closer inspection you find that not to be the case, the crest simply having been embossed and then painted black, but the impression lingers in your mind as you knock tentatively.

You’re not sure how to compose your face as you hear footsteps approaching, but a shy smile settles unbidden across your features as a shadow eclipses the strip of light at the bottom of the door and the handle turns smoothly. You feel a nervousness flutter through you, like you’re on stage and improvising under the razor gaze of a scrupulous crowd. It’s true: you don’t have a plan for what you’re going to do next.

Ignis pulls the door open, and the composed, welcoming expression he bears falls into shock as his gaze flicks over the state of you. Your stomach plummets. Presentability should have come first.

“Gods, you must be freezing. I know you’ve not much time to spare, but I insist you come in.” He extends his palm to you, opening the door wider. Numbly you take his proffered hand and let him lead you into the space. He gently shuts the door behind you and the sensation of being enclosed with him alone sets your heart a-sputter.

It does indeed look like Ignis lives here, the high-ceilinged space branching off into a hallway with at least two visible doors. You seem to be in the living area, pragmatically furnished and with a nearly floor-to-ceiling single-pane window spilling grey light into the interior. You can see for miles despite the clouded weather, and if it weren’t for the streaks of rain on the glassindicating a structure between you and the hundred-story drop you would almost feel nervous looking out from such a height. Directly to your right is a large granite counter, marking the extensive kitchen space. The island houses a stovetop and an oven, and copper kitchenware hangs from hooks along the wall. Cabinets line the flanking surfaces, a few made entirely of glass and revealing the delicate dinnerware of their contents. You’re awestruck by the display.

“If I may,” Ignis interrupts your gawking. You shift your attention to him, standing before you with his hands out to you, palms facing upward. Still rattled by suddenly finding yourself in Ignis’ home, the elegant space nestled on an innocuous floor in the inner Citadel, you numbly set your Ebony down on the small side table by the entrance and oblige, resting your hands in his. A gentle smile lights his features as he closes his thumbs over the backs of your hands.

With a sharp inhale, Ignis’ grasp on you bursts into light and flame. You’ve seen Croweand other mages handle fire in the past, but this is different. You and the rest of the Kingsglaive draw upon King Regis’ power, which is spread thinly enough even without constantly maintaining the shield around Insomnia. But Ignis’ pipeline draws from Prince Noctis’ well of magic, a reservoir tapped only by a spare few retainers. Your magic pales in comparison to what Ignis houses within him, and the deftness with which he wields the flames in his hands leaves you breathless. The heat on your clothes and skin mitigated by his will alone, your gaze is torn from his as you watch in awe as you are consumed.

The orange light cast over his features wavers and diminishes as your clothes swiftly dry and the fire seemingly dismisses itself, its purpose fulfilled. Hands still grasped in his, you gasp for breath, realizing you had neglected to do so while engulfed. Ignis smirks a little slyly.

“Apologies, I might have warned you first.”

You chuckle a bit feverishly, adrenaline pulsing through your veins and organs, and in a moment of overstimulated madness you blurt,

“That was sexy,”

The blush on your skin is easily enough blamed on the sudden heat applied, but truly you’re horrified at yourself. Ignis’ grin widens and he shrugs loosely, thumbs brushing your hands as he releases his grasp. You think you can see the hint of a flush in his cheeks as well, but similarly you can’t know for certain if it’s merely a result of the unnatural fire’s proximity.

“I’m always hoping to impress.”

He strides a few feet farther into his home and plucks your umbrella from a side table, confirming your suspicions. A little bashfully he extends it toward you.

“After you took your leave yesterday, the gentleman who served us noted you’d left this and asked if I were to see you again soon. I both expected and hoped I would, if for no other reason than to apologize to you.”

You’re taken aback, hands wavering mid-air as you reach to take your umbrella from Ignis.

“Apologize?”

“Yes,” His expression falls just a little. “You made such a hasty exit, I worried I’d said something to make you uncomfortable.”

Still overwhelmed and full of adrenaline, you can’t help the breathless laugh that escapes you. Ignis tilts his head and you struggle to put together an explanation.

“No, not quite anything like that.”

Head still cocked, Ignis raises a brow to further spur your exposition. You try and gather your wits.

“I wasn’t…You didn’t do anything wrong.” Is now really the moment? It’s still so soon after you’ve met him. You shuffle your feet and toy with your umbrella. Ignis saves you the embarrassment, though.

“Well, whatever the reason I’m glad I didn’t misstep.” He laughs lightly. “Still, I wanted for your company, and your swift retreat led to your unfortunate soaking this morning.” His expression softens. “I promise this to be the third and final time I fail to hold an umbrella for you.”

You melt. Desperately darting your gaze around in an attempt not to meet his eyes, you spot your still-full cup of Ebony. Seeing your opportunity to shift his attention from your face, you snatch it from the side table.

“I’ve never had Ebony before. I tried it but…” You trail off as you gesture to the cup. Ignis chuckles.

“It is very much an acquired taste.”

“Yeah. Though,” You circle your fingers around your cup, daring to make eye contact. “It would be a shame to waste the rest of this. Would you like it?”

He smiles softly and takes the cup from you.

“I would, yes. Thank you. I may wish to keep meeting with you, if for no other reason than you seem to keep buying my coffee for me.” He brings it to his mouth and sips, and realizing his lips are touching the lid where yours were not too long ago makes your stomach flip. You look at your nails. Surely the tactician has put it together by now? Are you just embarrassing yourself by dodging around your feelings in conversation, or is he toying with you?

“Ignis.”

“Hm?” He says, mid-swallow as he sets the cup aside to give you his full attention. Your grip trembles around your umbrella.

“…Th-thank you for getting this back to me.” You say, losing your nerve and gesturing to the umbrella in your hands. A smile easily settles on his features.

“Of course. It’s quite a unique one, I like it.” Your gaze falls to the pink ruffles trimming the black as he speaks. You laugh a little.

“I bought it as a joke, actually.”

“Oh? Do fill me in.”

Oh. Oh no.

“I-I thought it was funny that it…that…” You stutter, blood rising. “…that it looked like it was made out of l-lingerie,” You twist the fabric in your hands. In any other situation this wouldn’t be mortifying. There’s a silence gathering that will be uncomfortable if it stretches a moment longer, and you scramble for words. Anything, anything that will make an exit easy, you beg yourself, but your mind remains an adrenaline-filled haze and the words won’t come to you. You’re about to just bid him farewell apropos of nothing and make a break for it like you did yesterday when he speaks.

“It suits you.”

Any onlooker wouldn’t know how brazen for his character his words are, but you know, and the bold flirtation makes your knees wobble. Helplessly swept off your feet, you timidly peek up at him through your lashes and catch an understated smirk paired with a hot blush highlighting his expression. You giggle frenetically, gaze darting.

“I-I should head back,” You brush your hair aside nervously, feeling your own blush creep down your face and across your ears.

“Of course. When can I see you again?” His smile is soft. It seems his interest in you, to whatever degree and for one reason or another, is genuine.

“I have the next few days off,” You shrug, managing to sound collected. “And you still need to ‘unwind,’ right?”

You join Ignis in his smirk.

“It’s becoming more apparent to me by the hour that I’ll achieve that in your company.” He delicately takes your hand in his and brings it to his mouth once more. Not caught as off guard this time, a helpless and contented sigh leaves your lips.

“I’ll text you?” You ask as he stands.

“I look forward to it.”

 

As the elevator doors close behind you and you begin your descent, you melt onto the floor and press your heated face into your hands, heart thrumming and filling your chest with the sensation like it’s about to burst. You haven’t outright told him about your blossoming feelings, and you still have basic questions: does he know how you feel? when did he figure it out? is he reciprocating or just being nice? does he still have the intention to befriend other Glaives? why is his kitchen so nice? It’s a stressful and patchy kind of excitement, but you feel confident at this point that you can report back to Crowe that you’re at least on your way to having your shit sorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I own this weird sexy umbrella.


	9. Chapter 9

You had indeed still needed to report for training and had finished the day in your soaked Glaive uniform, but your civilian clothes were dry and perhaps still just a little warm from Ignis’ magic. Pulling them back on in the changing room felt strangely intimate, and a flustered sort of giddiness had thrummed through your chest on your train ride home, your flamboyant umbrella damp at your side.

Needing to release the feeling swelling in your chest somehow, you reached for your phone as you kicked your shoes off at your door.

_“Sirius I need your help.”_

_“Again?”_

_“No not like that. I think I’m actually going to go for it.”_

_“Yeah, get it senpai.”_

_“Oh my gods stop.”_

_“Okay for real though good for you. What do you need my help with?”_

_“What do you do to unwind?”_

 

_~_

 

Ignis had informed you that unfortunately he wouldn’t be consistently available as his position often called him to immediate, unforeseen action. This made setting plans considerably more difficult, and as such you pondered what would make for a good spur-of-the-moment afternoon. The gloomy weather had only just begun, and though Sirius’ suggestion of a beach day wasn’t a bad one, the forecast for the next few months made that a pretty clear impossibility. So you chose the next best thing.

Though you had intimated meeting on your weekend, as Ignis predicted he just had too many responsibilities suddenly arise and the days got away from you. You texted though, most conversations through your days off and the following week beginning with his gentle “Good morning.”

 

~

 

“Hey kiddo,” Crowe bumps your shoulder as you look over your training schedule for today, just as you glance over her name paired with yours.

“Hi Crowe,” You chirp. “I’m glad you got back safely.”

“Nah, it was a nothing gig,” She shrugs, hoisting her change of clothes higher in her arms. “Drautos thought we had a lead on where some MT supply routes were but,” She clicks her tongue, indicating nothing had come of it. “It’s all good though, I get to kick your ass again.”

You grin.

“Don’t hold back on me this time.”

 

Ultimately, you once again find yourself face-up in the tall, wet grass, lip split and flesh singed. Your chest heaves, drawing in exhausted breaths. Crowe appears above you.

“Good job.”  
You laugh incredulously.

“What? Look at me.”

“No, you look at _me._ You’ve gotten better since we did this last.” She indicates some cuts and bruises you managed to inflict, and she’s also struggling to catch her breath. She crushes a potion in her hand and the swelling in her cheek and ribs begins to recede. “And I brought it this time. So take my damn compliment because you’re one step further from being dead. Good job.”

You flush a little.

“…Thank you, Crowe. That means a lot coming from you.”

“I’ll take it back if you stop earning it.” She says, tossing a potion at you. You catch it, though clumsily. “Patch yourself up. You may have landed some hits on me but you look gods awful.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Don’t forget it.”

 

You take an extra long shower at the end of your day, having found sparring with Crowe today to be particularly taxing, and that’s on top of your endurance run. You could go for something low-intensity, you think as you turn off the water and begin to dry your hair.

Halfway through changing back into your civilian clothes your phone buzzes in your bag. Immediately a smile appears on your features. After the past few days, you’ve grown accustomed to most texts being from Ignis and they don’t fail to make you a little girlishly flustered every time. 

_“It appears some meetings I am meant to attend have been postponed. Foreseeably, I have the remainder of the day and all of tomorrow to enjoy freely. Should you be able to join me, I would love your company.”_

How he speaks makes a rush of heat wash over your skin. You confirm with the display on the wall that you aren’t scheduled to come in tomorrow before replying.

_“That’s a lucky break! I have tomorrow off too if you wanna do something. I’ve been thinking and I’m pretty sure I’ve come up with a plan you’ll like.”_

_“Certainly. Would you be keen to tell me about it in person?”_

_“Right now?”_

_“If you’ve no more assignments to complete, yes.”_

_“Sure, I’m done with my training but I’m still on Citadel grounds.”_

_“Splendid. Have you had dinner?”_

_“Not yet. Where do you want to go?”_

_“Not far, as it were.”_

Ignis’ offhand comment to Lumen back at Constellation that he cooks surfaces in your mind, and you recall the elaborate assortment of kitchenware in his home. Pieces clicking, you eagerly reply.

 

 

You can’t help the nerves that flit through you as you ride the elevator up to Ignis’ floor. You still haven’t told him about your feelings outright, and though you think he at least genuinely enjoys speaking with you, you’re still nervous he’s only being friendly and nothing more, the teasing euphemism last week meant only to break the tension in the air. To double down on your jitters, you’re going to be alone with him in his home again, this time without an easy means of excusing yourself like needing to get back to work. Inversely, you think as the elevator doors slide open and a soft tone sounds, your nerves are spurred not because you won’t have an _excuse_ to leave, but you’ll have no _reason_ to leave. Your gut clenches and you step from the elevator, making your way to Ignis’ door.

You can smell whatever it is that’s cooking before you even knock. As you hear footsteps approach, your stomach flutters once again at the level of intimacy dinner together at his home invites. Despite having little to nothing to show for your feelings toward Ignis, the tension in your bones is undeniably the fear you feel before taking a big step in a relationship. You fight to keep your gaze from nervously flicking to the ground as he opens the door.

“Welcome,” He says, natural as anything, and any hesitance you may have felt dissolves away at the sensory playground before you. Though the sun isn't due to set for a few more hours, the clouds have prematurely darkened the Insomnia skyline. Through the expansive pane of glass bordering his living room you can see the city begin to light itself, windows flickering on in homes and towers on into the distance, and though in truth very mundane, the spectacle from this height is breathtaking. It's like watching stars being born, countless points of light where once there weren’t. The large kitchen is alive and busy with a broad range of color on cutting boards and a gentle hiss of simmering ingredients, the thick scent of which now fully envelops you. And Ignis himself could be a meal with how he looks, gloveless and with his sleeves rolled to the elbows, baring to you his lean forearms and delicately jointed hands and wrists, a black half-length apron clinging to his hips.

“…Hey,” You reply weakly, once again finding yourself overstimulated. He cocks a brow. You laugh a little breathlessly and add, “You said before you’re always hoping to impress?” You shrug loosely, letting him intuit your approval. He grins.

“I hope it’s not all too much for you already. Dinner isn’t even ready yet.”

Ignis invites you to set your things down as you enter and finish taking in the scene. You seat yourself on one of the barstools lining the outer edge of the counter as Ignis resumes cooking. You're certain he hadn't planned for you to join him at the outset of the day when he was under the impression he would be working into the night, well after you'd already left the Citadel. True to how Ignis predicted things would need to be carried out, joining him for dinner is a pleasant surprise all around. On the other hand, though...

"Will there be enough? You weren't planning on cooking for two." 

"Wasn't I?" He smiles softly. Your brows knit together. He hums amusedly and adds, "I often cook for two. Our Prince needs to eat decent meals, and as his personal attendant it's my duty to do my utmost to convince him to at least occasionally do so."

You feel your expression shift toward astonishment. 

"You cook for the Prince?"

"As often as I can, though he only partakes, oh, perhaps a third of the time. What he leaves uneaten goes to the remainder of his retinue, I'm sure." He purses his lips a little; it appears this doesn't sit with him without issue, but he's accepted the truth of it to be that he undertakes a mostly thankless task. 

"But this looks so good, that's insane of him!" You blurt, gesturing to his deft composition of what already looks mouthwatering. After a beat, the color drains from your face. You make eye contact with Ignis fearfully, suddenly remembering your rank and file. You open your mouth to apologize for your inflammatory sentiment about Ignis' friend—the Prince—but he shrugs loosely and speaks before you can. 

"I'm glad someone appreciates it."

Your heart is clamoring. Though you feel you can freely discuss the royal family in front of your fellow Glaives, you spoke thoughtlessly in front of Prince Noctis' Advisor. Through luck and grace Ignis is also a casual friend and it appears he treats him as such, but to you Noctis is your future King. Ignis in truth owes you no margin for your decorum. This could have gone badly. You look at your nails. You can’t test these waters any further without first defining who you are to Ignis. 

"So what plan have you drummed up?" He interrupts your reverie as he slides a baking sheet loaded with fish filets into the oven, reaching to set a timer. You gather your wits again as your pulse levels out. 

"It's going to be raining for a while, so that makes outdoor stuff a little difficult. I tried to think of the most serene indoor place I could, and...well," you hesitate, realizing he's cooking fish and the macabre conjunction of the suggestion, but you continue as he lifts his brows, encouraging you as he washes his hands. “…I like aquariums." You finish bashfully. 

"There's one nearby?"

"It would be a drive, but it's totally doable." 

"I've never been to one," He admits, sliding onto the barstool next to you. The proximity flusters you a little and you try to keep your gaze from dragging over his collarbones that peek from the unbuttoned exposure at the base of his throat. You spot a round pendant around his neck, but it's so small it's difficult to discern what it is. 

"His Highness has a fondness for fishing, hence my extended knowledge on how to prepare seafood, so I suppose it never interested him to merely be a spectator." He says with a smirk, mirroring your earlier pause at the questionable order of events. "As such, I've never had cause to go, nor a person to accompany." At this he glances at you fondly. Meeting his gaze sends a strange mix of hesitant feelings through you. You still have questions you need answered, but the ice over that conversation is thick. It's much easier to float in this limbo of enjoying Ignis' company than it would be to try and forge something a little sturdier between the two of you. You can practically hear Crowe's razor-sharp quip retracting her praise of you earlier, and you swallow. Ignis, sharp as a knife, notices you do so and his eyes narrow.

"Is everything all right?" 

"It's just," You exhale. You were at least hoping to try the food before discussing defining the relationship and likely adding immeasurable tension to the air. "Is...Is there any wine?"

Crowe would have punched you. Sirius would have probably just called you on your shit outright. 

"I do have a modest collection for when I have company, yes. Though I prefer not to partake unless celebrating," He stands easily and strides to a high row of cabinets, long arms reaching up and torso slender under his shirt, now pulled taught over his hips. Your lips part as you breathe. 

"White wine?”

"Sure, yeah. Thank you." 

"Of course," He says easily, plucking one of the few wine glasses you can spot from one of the transparent shelves and filling it for you. You gratefully take the glass from him as he offers it toward you and bring it to your lips, but what begins as an evasive excuse to busy your mouth and hands quickly melts into true enjoyment. It’s one of the best wines you've ever tasted.

"Wow,"

"Hm?"

"For someone who doesn't drink you know how to pick a bottle." 

Ignis grins broadly, bringing one shoulder up in a shrug.

"Like I've established, I always hope to impress. Hoping alone won't accomplish anything though, so one must also _plan_ to impress."

"Well it's working. I haven't even had the food yet. You make meals literally fit for royalty, so I can't imagine my impression of you could take a downward swing over dinner." 

"You flatter me," Ignis flicks his gaze to the floor as he smiles, one of his first displays of sheepishness you've witnessed. It makes your heart melt into your stomach.

 

Ignis plates the fish as soon as he plucks it from the oven, carefully arranging it next to a delicate assortment of sautéed vegetables. You watch attentively, pressing the rim of the wine glass to your lower lip without drinking, utterly absorbed by the movement of his skilled hands. 

"I've a proper dining table, if you want to move from the counter," He gestures behind you near the large window. You think for a moment, hoping the beat to be short enough that Ignis won't notice. Should you gather the courage tonight to ask him to clarify his intentions, you decide you don't want to be seated directly across from him with no easy means to divert your gaze from his. 

"I like it at the counter. It's cozy." You try and put as much lightness into your tone as possible, and if Ignis suspects anything he doesn't make note of it to you as he nods amiably and sets the beautiful plate in front of you next to your wine glass.

You’re not incredibly picky, but inversely you’re also not incredibly discerning. The kebobs at Respite and Bite are among your favorite food, or they were up until this point, easily and handily dethroned by Ignis' effortlessly exquisite cooking. You sigh around the fish, lost in the lemon and salt and paprika, fork forgotten pressed to your bottom lip.

"How?" Is all you can manage to say. Not the most delicate compliment but Ignis swells with pride nonetheless. 

"Practice." Is all he gives you as a reply. 

"You've just ruined me for normal food." You say, eagerly pulling another flake of meat from your plate and bringing it to your mouth. 

"Excellent. Now you've reason to keep coming back." He smiles easily, but your stomach drops. No, not now, you think. Not during dinner, after he made this for you to enjoy. And damn, you're going to enjoy it. 

"You just needed a hook because I have one for you." You manage a dodge, and it seems to work.

"You're referring to how you keep buying me Ebony?" Ignis chuckles, joining you now in the meal. "Call it a mutually beneficial arrangement, then."

As he eats, he pulls a palm-sized black notebook from his back pocket. You watch over the rim of your wine glass as he chews slowly, then marks a note in the first blank page. He turns the ribbon over and closes it with a gentle snap, sliding it to his left on the counter. 

"Oh, so that's how." Is all you say as he picks up his fork again.

"Anything worth doing is worth perfecting."

"You mean this isn't already perfect?" You laugh. "Prince Noctis might not give you credit, but this is incredible." You spear a carrot slice and munch happily. "Tell His Highness if he won't eat what you cook for him, I will."

"You're entirely too kind," Ignis protests, but the flush on his high cheekbones is unmistakable. "Truth be told I was fearful you wouldn't like it."

"Really?" You poke the last few veggies onto your fork and hold them near your lips as you continue, "It's hard for me to picture you being nervous about anything." 

“I’m merely human. I was nervous asking for your company when we met, for example."

Your chewing slows a little as he speaks and you find yourself debating whether you want to ask for a second glass of wine, just to keep your hands busy. You inhale purposefully, steeling yourself.

"Why?"

"I suppose I feared I hadn't made a good enough first impression to earn your continued company."

"B-But," You clutch your glass, staring into the dwindling wine. "I'm confused. Aren't you trying to meet...more people? Why would me alone not wanting to hang out be so...distressing, I guess? There are tons of Glaives you could get to know."

Ignis' expression falters a little at your words. Like you suspected, the air suddenly thickens. 

"I daresay those were my original intentions, yes." He interlaces his fingers. "However if working so closely with Noct for most of my life has taught me anything, it's that when your design involves others, it can quickly leave your control and lead to outcomes you were not anticipating."

Wide eyed, you feel like your temperature is dropping by the moment as the two of you lock gazes.

"...You knew." You whisper. “H-How I felt...when did you..." You trail off, but Ignis smiles gently.

“I had my suspicions at Enable, judging by the sharp change of demeanor you exhibited between our first encounter and when we met for coffee. But your assurance that your hasty retreat was not due to any offense I might have made confirmed them."

"O-Oh." Your heart flutters. "I don't understand. If you knew that early on how I felt, why did you still talk to me and stuff? I-I thought you would think I was being..." Your hands grasp at the air, searching for the right words. "...unreasonable. I-I just met you."

"Perhaps if you'd asked right off for me to marry you." He chuckles a little restrainedly. "As it were, I'm not so insulated that I would balk at simple attraction." 

“O-Oh, I see…” Your brows knit together. “Am I…I can't be the first..." 

A small but knowing smile plays around his mouth as he shifts on his barstool to face you.

“The first to make known that there was harbored interest, at the very least. Doubtlessly there have been encounters in the past where there were directionless flirtations, but,” His brows crease, thoughtfully. “I suppose you were in the right place at the right time. I’d made the decision to go out on my own, so without Noct or the rest of the retinue I was able to go somewhere less closely guarded. Somewhere like Constellation, a bar where I knew I would encounter Glaives, and though I had only the intention of observing at the time, I caught your eye.” He shifts his weight, like he’s physically navigating his words.

“And I had the thought that perhaps I could do more than just observe. If I could befriend some of the Kingsglaive, surely that would be a deeper well of insight and would lead to more informed advising on my part. And you were so charming, I felt like I could easily spend time with you, and perhaps in time also small groups of those to whom you’re closest. It began as gathering intel,” He chuckles a little guiltily. “Then I found myself desiring friendship. I would have been content had that been the extent of it, but once I began suspecting you of deeper feelings, well…” He exhales slowly, then laughs, though the sound is a little tense, strained.

“I did some evaluation. I am not in a position to devote myself wholly to a relationship. My Prince comes first, as he always has. This alone makes pursuing romantic fulfillment difficult at its first steps. However,” He flicks his gaze to you, the green of his eyes suddenly darkened. “as I’ve mentioned, it is not strictly an impossibility. There’s no clause in my position specifying against it, at the very least. Far from it. After drawing to this point, I thought about what harm it could do to…” He struggles for the phrase, something you suspect very uncharacteristic for him. “…blast it, ‘humor you’ sounds so patronizing.”

You find yourself trembling, though the rest of you is numb with shock.

“S-So you aren’t just…you know, being nice?”

Ignis gives a short laugh, and it’s clear to you that he’s trying to release some tension from within him.

“Should that be all you would ask of me I would gladly oblige. But it seems to me your interest runs a little deeper, and though I can’t say I fully reciprocate at present, I do truly enjoy your presence and,” He grins nervously. “you are very attractive.”

“Wha—th-thank you,” The confession knocks you from your numbness. “Coming from you that’s definitely an ego boost.” He laughs, and a flush crosses his features.

“I merely call it how it is, as a tactician must.” He levels his eyes to you, suddenly serious. “The decisive matter, however, is what you would have of me.”

You shudder at his words.

“What do you mean?”

“It may be some time before I could truly fill the role you might have in mind for me to play,” His features draw together, a little saddened. “I love Noct and my life is bound to him. I want for nothing while he needs me, but one day he’ll ascend the throne, and my role in his life as Advisor will surely be split to several other loved ones. His Queen, for one, I’m sure.” He averts his eyes, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the countertop as he continues. “It likely won’t be until such a time that I would be in a position to fully pursue my own desires. I understand that speaking of a future so distant might be cause for you to have some misgivings, but it’s a necessity dictated to me by the life I live. Please understand,” He turns to you again and your heart beats in your throat. “I am not rejecting you. In fact, I am far from opposed to exploring your feelings with you. I would hope and expect that fondness to only grow on my part. However, my dedication to you must come second, at least for quite some time. The deciding matter is whether or not you find this agreeable enough to continue.”

You’re left dumbstruck by his words, your heart hammering so hard you can feel it through your spine and into the base of your skull.

“I—I—” You sputter. It’s all so much.

“You needn’t give me an answer straightaway.” Ignis reaches over and gently closes his broad hand over yours. “I’m more than content to visit the aquarium with you tomorrow regardless of your choice, should you still wish it.”

“Okay,” You gasp, almost a sob. Ignis’ shoulders slacken, a helpless worry settling over his features.

“I do apologize for placing any burden on you. Doubtlessly this is also part of why I’ve never had a girlfriend.” He smiles, a little embarrassed. You know he’s trying to lighten the mood, but you welcome the chuckle that escapes you.

“It’s okay. I figured this would be the case from the get-go. You just…I guess you have a way of making me feel the gravity of it, is all.”

“I’ve always had a way with words.” He laughs lightly, squeezing your hand once before relaxing his grip and returning his hand to the counter. “No need to rush your decision on my part. I can assure you no one will come sweep me off my feet in the interim.”

“Okay,” You manage again, collecting yourself with a small laugh. “If you’re okay with it, I’ve kind of been looking forward to going to the aquarium with you. I guess if for no other reason than I really thought hard about what we could do to help you unwind and to not have that pay off would suck.”

“Of course, I’m sure for both of us.” He grins amiably. “Now, I’ve something much more important for you to consider,” He stands purposefully and strides toward his fridge. “Do you prefer eclairs or fruit tarts?”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams hands on table* Get ready for some HEADCANONS

When Ignis picks you up from your home, true to his word he unfurls an umbrella and walks closely with you down the front steps from your apartment building to the open passenger side door of his car, his shoulder brushing against yours. He's wearing a thicker coat than his usual slim dress jacket and it makes his chest appear broader under the dark grey material. You instinctually wind your fingers around the crook of his arm as he walks with you, and the warmth from his body captured in the fabric makes you hum contentedly. He glances down at you fondly as he guides you by the hand into the passenger seat. You blush a little again at how formally he conducts himself. As he situates himself behind the wheel and enters the address for your destination into his GPS, you find yourself suddenly curious.

"Ignis?"

"Yes?" He glances at you as he pulls away from your home. 

"Are you Tenebraen?"

He grins softly. 

"Cutting to the chase today, I see."

"I mean..." You flush a little. "I want to take what you asked me to consider seriously. And to do that, well, I...I need to know more about you."

"Hardly an unfair ultimatum." He takes a beat, seeming to order his thoughts before responding. “My mother was born in Tenebrae. My father’s bloodline has produced attendants to the royal family of Lucis nearly as far back as the records go, so in order to be given the opportunity to fulfill the Scientia calling my parents agreed I should be born on Lucian soil rather than in my mother’s homeland. I was born and raised here, but there are certain Tenebraen characteristics I simply couldn't evade." He smirks. "For one, my accent.”

"No kidding," No wonder he seems to be in his own subset of the royal retinue. 

"And you?"

"I'm from outside the wall like most of the Glaives. I grew up in Leide."

"Near the ocean?"

"Unfortunately no. Closer to the Weaverwilds. It's like...pretty outposty. There's only a few roads and not many more buildings. Super dry, lots of brush, hot most of the time. I guess that's why I like it when it's raining in Insomnia, it's finally just...not hot." You chuckle. 

"The Citadel must have been a bit overwhelming when you first enlisted," Ignis intuits. He's right, of course.

"It still is a little, to be honest. I'm still not sure how to feel at home anywhere on the Citadel grounds outside of the Kingsglaive wing."

"I hope you found my home welcoming, at least." 

You chew your lip.

"About that," You begin. Ignis flicks his eyes toward you as he shifts lanes. "It seems like for all intents and purposes, you live with the royal family."

"Not quite, no. Noct is living on his own in an apartment outside the Citadel, but that's a relatively new development. I was given access to an apartment near there, but," He shrugs. "I've lived at the Citadel for as long as I can remember. Noct is free to pursue his emotional rebelliousness by distancing himself from the circumstance of the Citadel, but I feel no desire to do similarly. I visit His Highness frequently to drop off meals and such, but more pragmatically, I attend meetings in his stead so often that it made more sense to continue living where I truly work."

"So you've got an apartment that you're just not using?"

"Occasionally I'll sleep there, should Noct's home be—” He sighs, “—in _particular_ disarray and I simply don't have the energy at the end of the day to travel farther than a few streets."

"Do you like the kitchen there?"

Ignis laughs in earnest. 

"I admit I prefer my Citadel home's kitchen, but I'm equipped to prepare His Highness meals in the sparsest of settings. He does enjoy the occasional camping trip."

You're approaching the aquarium, a building designed to conjure the imagery of a kelp forest: tall, silver sheafs of metal clustered together and reaching gracefully skyward. Soaked from the rain and in the grey light, they shine ethereally. Ignis seems to take a moment to appreciate the architecture as you walk toward the entrance, your hand nestled in the crook of his arm. 

You move to pause by the ticket window, but Ignis is making a bee line for the entrance. 

"Ignis?"

He glances at you a little slyly. 

"I hope you don't mind; I took the liberty of buying our tickets online this morning."

“‘Our?’ You didn’t need to do that."

"Perhaps I didn't _need_ to." He shrugs loosely, intimating that he simply wanted to buy your ticket for you. You grin shyly.

"Thank you, that's sweet of you." 

"If you wish, you can consider it repayment for the two Ebonys you've bought for me.”

 

The aquarium life is organized by region, so the first large display that catches your interest is filled with fish found near Vannath Coast. Excited like a kid, you press both palms flat to the glass of a giant cylindrical tank as a grouper twice the size of your torso floats calmly past you at eye level. You hear Ignis hum affectionately from behind you and you smile shyly.

“I didn’t know they got this big,” You can’t help the wonder that fills your voice.

“Imagine how many meals it could make.”

You look over your shoulder and give him a joking frown.

“You brought that recipe idea book, didn’t you?”

“I bring it everywhere.”

You raise a brow at his knowing smirk and innocent tone, but give in to the chuckle you feel in your chest. You arc your neck back, eyeing the tower of water nearly thirty feet tall stretching above you. Light pours through from the top, wavering and fracturing and making everything glitter. It reaches through the glass and spills onto the floor around the display as well, flickering over your faces as you and Ignis take in the core sample of the ocean suspended in front of you. You glance at Ignis, the light dancing over his features in waves and making the green of his eyes appear teal.

Other than the soft music playing through the speaker system and the murmur of other patrons, it’s quiet. The only light sources are in and around tanks or displays, the dimness cooling the halls. Several smaller tanks are dedicated to the freshwater creatures of Duscae, arranged on a slanting section of the floor leading you downward toward a glass tunnel. You catch your breath as you and Ignis step into the tunnel, the floor leveling out under your feet and a world of sea life visible through the glass encasing you.

“Oh, wow,” You sigh. The curvature of the glass makes it nearly invisible, the fractals of light streaming in from the water’s surface above you giving the illusion that you and Ignis are standing alone together in the quiet of the ocean floor, the fish and sharks unconcerned by your presence. As you gaze wide-eyed at the spectacle, you feel Ignis brush the back of his hand to yours.

“This does seem to be doing the trick,” He laughs softly. “I confess this may become where I seek refuge from the mess of Noct’s apartment.”

“That’s good to hear,” You smile broadly and instinctually move your hand to circle your fingers around his palm. “Can I do this?”

Ignis interlaces his fingers with yours as his answer and a happy flush rises over your skin, your eyes fluttering to the ground.

“Any of the better sights offered here are surely not near your feet.” He squeezes your hand assuringly and you level your eyes to his, a shy but grateful smile wavering on your face.

“You’re really angling for me to stick around, huh?”

“I just want you to have a full picture of what I can offer before you make your choice.”

“Oh? How many more boxes do we have to check off before I have a full picture?”

“A few.” He gives you a sly sideways glance and your heart begins clattering in your chest as you continue through the curve of the tunnel, gazing upward with your hand locked with Ignis’.

The leg of the Aquarium dedicated to Altissian sea life appropriately has a cafe near the entrance. You admit to Ignis you’re a little hungry and you branch off from the path that would lead you deeper into the exhibits and glance over the chalkboard menu of the Altissian cafe.

“Does anything catch your eye?”

“They have cake,” You say bashfully. Ignis gives you a warm look of endearment. “Let me buy it though.” You pause, then add: “And whatever you want, too.”

“As thanks for my company?” Ignis cocks a brow and smirks as you flounder a little.

“W-Well…I want you to have a full picture of me too, I guess. And I don’t want to give you the impression that I’d be an expensive girlfriend, that’s all.”

Ignis gives you a thoughtful sideways glance, his breathing slow and measured.

“May I speak frankly?”

You’re caught a little off-guard.

“Oh, I mean…don’t you always?”

“You’d be surprised at the restraint I show with Noct,” He chuckles. “And if I’m to be honest, your enthusiastic appreciation yesterday might have, well, made me realize I’ve been wanting for someone to spoil.”

“Whaaaat.” You can’t help the incredulous tone in your voice and it draws Ignis’ gaze toward you fully. “Don’t you spoil the Prince?”

“For the amount of legwork I do on his account, one would think so. It’s different though. I know Noct appreciates all I do for him, but,” He exhales slowly. “My hand is his life is meant to help guide and raise him as an older brother would. We’re too familial for me to spoil him in the true sense of the word.” The corner of his mouth raises and his eyes darken a little. “I admit my ego might be influencing my desire to hear your approval again.”

A hot blush rises in your cheeks and you feel a particular thrill in your abdomen. Ignis Scientia likes earning your praise. A heady sort of adrenaline rushes through you at the idea of exerting such a nuanced power over him, should you choose to.

“In that case, you can buy my lunch,” You say with a coy flutter of your lashes. You note his Adam’s apple shift in his throat and your heart redoubles its speed.

 

The Altissian wing of the Aquarium has a slightly different color palette; the hues of the walls and structures around the tanks are more primary and vibrant, and the floor here transitions from asymmetrical tiles to faux wooden floorboards. There’s a wall spanning the length of this room with floor-to-ceiling portholes of concave glass every four or five feet, all looking in on one unfathomably huge tank housing the slower-moving and more gargantuan marine mammals and invertebrates found off the southern coast of Altissia. Ignis follows you as you nearly bound into the middlemost cylindrical glass outcropping, pressing your hands to the glass and sighing as you take in the vast amount of water and life in front of you.

You hear Ignis breathing just behind you, and you realize that the acoustics of these walk-in portholes seem to seal out the hum of the rest of the aquarium. They aren’t wide enough for more than a couple of people at a time to comfortably view the exhibit, so you and Ignis are the only two in this semi-secluded, quiet space. The wonder you feel at the display in front of you is closely followed by a nervousness at the sudden unexpected intimacy of the space. After a few silent breaths, Ignis brushes his fingertips lightly and affectionately across the back of your neck. You shudder, but continue facing the display.

“How many of those slick moves do you have?” You ask a little breathlessly.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Ignis replies with an all-too-innocent tone. “I merely want you to enjoy yourself.”

“You don’t need to worry,” You laugh. “As far as first dates go, this is probably the most enjoyable one I’ve ever had.”

“Only first? I would think this would be our third.” He steps closer to you and rests his hands gently at your waist, his chin near your ear as he closes the distance between your bodies and watches the marine life swim before the pair of you, your hands still pressed flat to the glass of the display. A tremble runs through you at his proximity, his chest brushing your shoulder blades through your clothing. You feel Ignis’ fingers stiffen at your waist.

“If you’d prefer for me not to be so close—” He begins, but you lift your hands from the glass and close them around his, pulling them from your waist and encircling them around your middle, drawing him truly flush against your back. You rest the back of your head against his collarbone and continue watching the fish swim by, offering no explanation to Ignis. He doesn’t seek one, but you feel satisfied hearing his heart pick up time in his chest as you lean against him, a sigh leaving his lips by your hair.

“We’re counting the coffee shop as a first date?” You ask, surprisingly collectedly.

“In retrospect I think it’s clear that’s what it was, though neither of us knew it at the time.” Ignis’ answer wavers just slightly and you hum amusedly, watching a ray the size of a car skim the glass in front of you.

“That’s cute,” You smile demurely.

“So…how many of these slick moves do you have?” Ignis mirrors your words from moments before. You can’t see his face but you can hear him grinning around his words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You giggle in Ignis’ embrace and he pulls you just a fraction closer.

“I could learn some improvements to my tactics from you, it seems.”

 

After a couple hours, the speakers throughout the building softly chime and an announcement that the aquarium will close in thirty minutes relays to the patrons. You and Ignis walk hand in hand to the nearest exit, poking through the gift shop on the way, but the kitsch is too thickly layered for either of you to want anything. Ignis unfurls his umbrella at the exit and you draw close to him under its shelter as you make your way back to his car.

"Would you like to go anywhere else tonight?" 

You pause. You're enjoying Ignis' company so thoroughly, but it'll begin to get uncomfortably cold the further into evening it gets, the ground having not been warmed by the sun for days. 

"You should probably take me home. It's going to get cold." You say a little regretfully. A glint forms in Ignis' eyes and he shifts his grip on the umbrella, extending his free hand out in front of him. 

"If that's your sole reason, recall I can offer a solution." Ringlets of flame ripple from his palm and serenely flicker on his fingers. Unlike the fire he wielded to dry your hair and clothes, the flames he conjures now are subdued and soft, almost dim. You cock a brow at his slyness and gratefully hold your hands over the calm fire cradled in his palm. 

"Show-off." You say jokingly. Ignis grins. You smile, feeling a contentedness fill your chest as the fire casts a soft orange glow over Ignis' face, his glasses reflecting the light. You watch the flames gently pulse in time with what must be his heartbeat, and something about this makes you soften, like he's revealing an intimate facet of himself to you.

"If you want me to take you home, I will." He murmurs. "Though I admit I'm reluctant to part with you." 

"I thought you said you didn't reciprocate my feelings," You flick your gaze from the warmth in his palm to his eyes, trying to read his expression.

“Not to the degree I’m sure you feel for me, no,” His eyes fall to the ground for a moment, a rare display of hesitance. “But don’t forget the addendum that I expected I would, given a little time in your company."

The dome of the umbrella is trapping the heat and light, creating a small bubble of comfortable warmth around you and Ignis, cradled in the tiny shelter from the rain and darkening street. 

"Well," You shuffle your feet. "Maybe you really should take me home, then. Maybe we shouldn't risk that yet. I don't want to break your heart." 

Ignis' brows knit together. 

"What do you mean?"

“Well, right now you just like my company, right? But if you…” You chew your lip, “…if you f-fall really in love with me before I figure out what I want from this, there's a chance I'll say no. It would just hurt you more than you'd need to be hurt." Your eyes fall to the fire cupped in his hand, gaze a little saddened. There's a beat where Ignis' breath and the quiet flicker of the flames and the hiss of the rain on the pavement around you are loud in your ears, and the feeling of contentedness filling your chest begins to fade a little. 

Ignis moves his hand from between the two of you and dismisses the fire, turning to face you fully. You look up at him, confused for a moment, then his warm palm is pressed to your cheek and you’re made acutely aware of the heady scent of soft leather.

"I'm a tactician, my dear. I'm more than experienced with taking calculated risks."

The two of you had already been standing so close under the umbrella, the distance between your faces is intimately short. He moves forward just slightly and gently presses his forehead to yours. You’re certain the color drains from your face. This is the closest you have ever been to him, and you can smell the Ebony he loves so much, mixed with the scent of the rest of him. In the street washed clean by the rain, you have a clear palate to take it in: He smells like leather and ash and coffee and cloves. When he speaks again you can feel his breath on your lips as he finishes: ”I can say confidently that it would be worth it." 

Ignis' eyes take up the whole of your vision, piercing and verdant and firey behind his lenses, his expression soft and nuanced. Your insides tremble, somewhere between lust and fear, the act of blinking quite forgotten. You think distantly that this is a perfect moment to kiss him, but the intense intimacy of just his forehead resting against yours is almost overwhelming, and you can't gather your wits or the courage enough to take any further action, other than to weakly whisper,

"Then we can go somewhere else," 

Ignis smiles softly and stands to his full height. The sudden coolness on your forehead makes you want to hold him tightly to your chest, seeking again to feel his warmth. He grins devilishly and says, his tone innocent:

"Are you hungry? I'm quite inexplicably craving sushi."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the overwhelmingly positive feedback on this fic. <3 This is definitely something I'm pouring my heart into and it makes my day every time I see new comments or kudos. There's a handful of chapters left to go for part 1, and part 2 is where I think my best writing to date is. I'm so, so excited to share it with you! Thank you for reading!!


	11. Chapter 11

The amount of time you spend with Ignis over the next month is sparse and scattered, as you both expected it would be. The two of you text often and sometimes you would share a brief phone call at the end of your days, but between your training shifting into the next phase and the workload Ignis undertakes on any given day, most of the in-person contact you have with him is during occasional lunch breaks. You two often spend these precious hours at Enable. 

Though the chill of late fall is beginning to transition to the oppressive cold of early winter, the freezing rain is giving way to crisp skies and a cold sun today. The sunlight pours in fractals down through the shield and the familiar mirages of magic swim at distant intervals through the streets. You watch through the window you're seated next to as one such ripple of magic pulses into life, then just as quickly wavers and vanishes. A soft pressure of a gloved hand between your shoulder blades draws your attention back to the interior of Enable. 

"Did I interrupt your musings?" 

"Nah, just zoning out."

"What a good time for a pick-me-up, then." Ignis smiles broadly and sets a copper mug in front of you on the table with a gentle clink. You thank him and blush into your cup as he seats himself opposite you. You haven't been anxious outright in his presence for a couple weeks, but today you feel the familiar flicker of nervousness in your stomach return. Setting down your mug, you clear your throat. 

"I wanted to ask you something." 

"Oh?" Ignis lifts his brows, curious, setting his own coffee down and interlacing his fingers in front of him, giving you his full attention. You take a wavering breath and hold your palm out in front of you.

"I started elemental training a couple weeks ago. I haven't been able to do anything like this until recently, and I was wondering if, well...if you could help me."

You inhale and draw upon the borrowed magic in your body, willing flames to manifest in your hand. You have to concentrate to keep the weak fire alive, the dim blue light rippling around your fingertips and extinguishing itself faster than you can sustain it. You exhale, a little disappointed in the display, and let your hand fall to your lap. 

"I can usually hold it a little better than that. I guess I'm just nervous. You can handle fire so deftly and I was pretty sure I wouldn't ever show any potential for it. I kind of think you—” You look at your nails, smiling bashfully. “—inspired it to show itself in me."

You flick your eyes up to his, and the warmth and pride and adoration in his gaze makes your chest fill with unexpected butterflies. 

"It would be my pleasure to tutor you." He says gently, simply, but the soft tone of his words and the way his poised frame relaxes makes you envision the last of a season's snow finally melting into the ground and cultivating life to grow from its absence. 

 

~

 

It's your day off a little less than a week later, but Ignis has asked you to come to a sparring ground in the inner Citadel so he can offer guidance to help you wield your elemental magic. You don't mind; you would have wanted to spend your day off with him regardless of the circumstances.  

When you find your way to the sparring ground, you can hear clattering and grunting from down the hallway leading to the open-air courtyard. You pause, raising a brow. You hadn't expected there to be anyone else using the space other than you and Ignis, but it's not an unreasonable occurance. You’re also here a little early, so you shrug to yourself and continue down the hall toward the bright square of sunlight that blinds you for a moment when you step out onto the railed balcony over the courtyard. 

The rectangular space is bound by two viewing balconies, one on the same level as the ring and the other just above it, where you are. The arena itself looks like it's made of rubber, meant to give under impact just a little to help avoid unnecessary injury between sparring partners. The metal of the railing is doubtless meant to resist elemental damage should it escape the confines meant for exchanging blows, and the heatless sun streams uninhibited into the space through a presently retracted segmented glass roof. There are a few weapons racks along the edge of the arena, but it appears that their contents remain unused for the particular duel taking place below you. 

Ignis stands purposefully poised in more casual attire than you've ever seen him. Black track pants cling to his hips and his usual buttoned-down look has been replaced with a grey cotton v-neck, the length of exposed flesh down his arms easily more than double what you've seen. You know he’s toned from viewing his forearms alone, but otherwise he usually seems deceptively slender under his usual choice of clothing. You reevaluate this conception upon seeing the cotton of his t-shirt cling to his chest and upper arms, stretching to reveal the curvature of the muscle he usually plays down under his dress coat. Your insides clench. 

His opponent is younger, standing at odds with Ignis and much more out of breath, brushing blond hair from his sweaty forehead and out of his eyes. His gaze darts and he steps hesitantly to the side. 

In a burst of light, a lance manifests in Ignis' grasp and he charges forward, digging the tip of it into the ground and nimbly lifting himself into the air, flipping over the top of the blonde and bringing his heel into the poor boy's back between his shoulder blades, knocking him forward with a yelp. Before Ignis regains his footing, the boy manages to twist mid-fall and, to your surprise, also summons a weapon in a flash of pixels. This must be one of the Crownsguard. 

A pistol forms in his grip and he fires a crack shot in Ignis' direction. Your heart flies into your throat as an impact on his shoulder knocks Ignis forward, compromising his grasp on his lance and causing it to clatter away and dismiss itself in a fractured swirl of light. He rolls as he lands and regains his footing, and you search for evidence of blood. You find none as Ignis calls forth a pair of intricate daggers and charges his opponent again, who’s still trying to scramble to his feet. 

Your brows furrow. He must have rubber bullets or some other non-lethal projectile loaded into his guns, but you always just take the hits you can't dodge during training and use a potion at the end of your day. If he's using a handicap like that, then that must mean he can't aim well enough to only incapacitate his sparring partner, and that's much too high a risk to take; mega-potions and phoenix downs can't help a bullet to the brain. That must mean he's new. But even though he's at least a little younger than Ignis, he's still much too old to be only beginning his training for the Crownsguard. He's also sparring with a royal retainer no less, rather than a veteran Glaive like Nyx who could still handily get the job done but whose time was inarguably less important. You squint as you watch the two men continue to battle. Something isn't adding up. 

The blond man yelps again as Ignis knocks him off his feet with an arcing sweep of his lance, but as he falls he manages to box Ignis on the side of the head with his foot, sending his glasses flying from his face and skittering away. Ignis stumbles for a moment, and the other man hits the ground with a grunt, but quickly his boyish features rearrange into horror. 

"Oh, shit! Shit! I'm sorry Ignis! I-I'll buy you another pair, I didn't mean to do thAUGH—!”

Ignis buries his lance through the loose collar of the boy's vest, pinning him to the ground and forcing him to end his apologies with a cry of surprise. 

"Don't let your guard down." Ignis says calmly, wiping blood from a cut on his high cheekbone as the younger man wriggles under him, unable to pry the lance from the ground, rendering him completely trapped. Ignis summons a dagger and levels it to the boy's throat. "Do you yield?" 

His pale arms fall from the spear at his shoulder and flop helplessly defeated to his sides. 

"Yeah I yield." 

Ignis dismisses the lance and the boy sits up, hardly taking a beat to compose himself before scrambling to where Ignis' glasses had come to a stop several yards away. You hear him breathe a sigh of relief as he snatches them up. 

"Hey, they aren't broken! Whew!" 

"And now don't you feel silly, getting distracted over nothing and giving me the win?"

The boy's face falls as he tentatively hands Ignis back his glasses. 

"It's not like I could have won anyway. Noct's just being nice giving me a place in his retinue. I know I'm pretty useless, especially against you."

"Oh, come now." Ignis clips, resituating his glasses and causing the blonde to flinch. "You needn't be able to best _me_ , you just need to be good enough to not die up against a handful of Magitek Troopers. A month ago I wouldn't have been able to confidently say you could accomplish that. Now look," He gestures to the slice on his cheek and the boy squirms, flicking his eyes around the arena. "You've improved. Acknowledge it or you'll just impede your own progress."

"O-Okay." He gives a hesitant smile. "Thanks, Iggy. For the training. I really appreciate it." 

You bite back a chuckle. Iggy? That's cute. After a quick farewell the blonde gathers up a couple articles and scuttles out of the courtyard, leaving Ignis alone to towel sweat from his forehead and rehydrate, sitting down right there in the middle of the arena, presumably waiting for you. You grin. 

“Positive reinforcement, Iggy?” You call down to him. He jumps and hurriedly scans the balconies, spotting you leaning casually against the railing. "And here I thought you were a stone-cold assassin during a fight." 

He scrambles to his feet, the blush from exertion in his features redoubling. 

“You’re early,” He says, perhaps taken aback that you’ve witnessed him without whatever filter he uses for his composure around you.

“I wanted to see you,” You shrug, standing and making your way to the stairs to the lower balcony. “Who was that?”

“Noct’s civilian friend.” Ignis answers, seeming to quickly collect himself as you descend the stairs. “He’s exerting his power as Prince and giving him a position in the royal retinue, so he needs to be given expedited training. Gladiolus and I have been charged with doing so, though the whole of it isn’t exactly standard procedure.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s a loving grin playing about his mouth. “That’s our Prince for you.”

“Oh, that explains it.” Your eyes are wandering over the exposed skin showing from under the unfamiliar clothes he’s wearing. “I was wondering who was important enough for your time.”

“You, for one.” He smiles lovingly. “But I am still a little exhausted. I was expecting to have another twenty minutes or so before you arrived.”

“Yeah, I understand. Take a breather,” You say, approaching him in the ring. You click your tongue and tenderly lift your hand to his bloodied cheek. His eyes widen just a little at your touch.

“I have a potion.” You begin, digging into your bag.

“That’s kind of you. Hold onto it for now, though,” Ignis’ words still your hand, “I’d rather only use one, and you might inflict some damage.”

You snort incredulously, but his gaze remains leveled and serious.

“If a guy who has a couple weight classes on me can’t put more than a scratch on you, what kind of damage are you expecting from me?”

“The burning kind.” He says easily, a smile sliding over his features. You balk.

“Wh-What? Ignis you saw how pitiful my elemental magic is, I’m nowhere near _good_ enough with it to burn you…”

“We’ll see.” Is all he says with a shrug.

 

 

Ignis begins with you only a few minutes later, the cold in the air at least lending itself to a speedy recovery. You’ve swept your hair back and away from your face and pulled off your jacket and overshirt, baring your arms to the chill in the air. You shiver in your tank top, but you know you’ll warm up once you begin practice. Magic is as taxing as physical exercise, and at your level of elemental control you’ll probably feel like you’ve run a marathon by the end of this. After changing, you join Ignis in the ring again. You announce you’re ready whenever he is, and his gaze lingers on you for a beat before giving you the affirmative and gesturing for you to come closer.

“Tell me: what goes through your mind when you use your blade to warp?”

The question catches you off-guard. You glance down in thought.

“It’s hard to explain. Time slows down between when I throw my dagger and when I warp to it. I just want to be where my dagger is, so I just kind of…reach out to it. With my soul, I guess.”

Ignis nods, fingertips to the point of his chin.

“And what is your process for summoning fire?”

“I sort of…will it to appear. It takes a lot out of me. Warping came so much more easily,” You chuckle, a little frustrated already.

“It only seems that way. I suspect you’re just as adept wielding the elements.”

You raise a brow.

“What makes you say that?”

“You say you’re willing the fire into existence?” He holds out his palm, and with a breath light and flame manifests, cradled in his fingers. “Try asking it. Magic began with the Six; it’s derived from their consciousness, and for lack of a better metaphor it still retains a shadow of sentience through the will of the Old Kings’ spirits. Whether you realized it or not, when you first summoned a flame it was because you had been granted the ability to wield it. It’s a direct blessing from one of the Old Kings, and should be treated with grace and humility—and love.” He pauses, staring into the flames for a breath before dismissing them. “You’re having difficulty because you’re simply being rude by commanding the fire to manifest.”

He grins, but you’re a little dumbstruck by the poetry of his words, and the implication that your ability to summon flames manifested only after you’d become close to Ignis because one of the Old Kings noted how you were awestruck by Ignis’ adeptness with fire and took that as an indicator that you deserved to wield it, too.

“That’s a beautiful way of looking at it,” you say. He replies with a chuckle.

“It is infuriatingly abstract, but that’s so like the Gods, don’t you think?” He takes a step back from you and circles behind you, clearing your path and indicating it’s your turn. “So try to slow down time as you do with your blade, but with fire, now.” He steps close behind you and rests his hands gently on your shoulders, continuing with his breath in your hair by your ear. “Feel respect and love for it. Bare your soul and ask for a connection. Want not to command, but to trust—” His voice begins to waver and he pauses, swallowing. After taking a breath and clearing his throat, he lifts his hands from your shoulders and finishes: “Don’t demand for it to appear, but have faith that it will. Like the faith you feel that you’ll be reunited with your blade when you throw it. Can you try that?”

You take a nervous breath.

“I can try.”

“That’s all you can ask of yourself for now. Don’t try to target anything, just try and create a sustainable flame.”

You nod and hold both palms out in front of you, fingers bent delicately like you are cradling bubbles and trying not to burst them. You chew your lip, eyes half lidded as you try and pin down the emotions and thoughts that run through you when you warp. Trust, that’s what Ignis said. You’ve never put a word to it before, but undoubtedly that’s what it is: when you throw your dagger, you know you’ll be warped to it. You flex your fingers. You wish you had something physical like your blade to help you focus your elemental magic. What do you picture for this?

“I’m stuck.” You confess.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know what to reach out to.” You drop your arms to your sides and turn to face Ignis. “It’s easy with my dagger. It’s right there. Like, physically in front of me, and I’m literally trying to go to where it is. What do I reach out to for this?” You put your hands together and conjure again the weak blue flame that’s the extent of your power.

“Infuriating, isn’t it?” Ignis chuckles wryly. “Perhaps think of something you want. Something you can link to your desire to conjure flame.” His eyes flick over you before he continues. “Let it fuel you.”

You nod again and turn to the open expanse of the courtyard. You want to be united with your blade, that’s how you warp. You want to summon fire, but…maybe you need to think of it the exact same way. Maybe you need to think of it like desiring to be united with the flames, letting them come to you. You mull over Ignis’ suggestion and a cheeky grin finds its way to your face. Appropriately enough, you do have something you desire—a namesake, no less.

You look over your shoulder at Ignis. He has his arms crossed loosely at his chest, his weight shifted onto one foot as he watches you. His frame is lithe and intricate and deceptively powerful and his features are ethereally beautiful. His hair is slightly mussed from his sparring with the blond man, strands falling down over his face and into his eyes. You imagine instead of trusting that your blade will appear again in your palm that you are reaching your hand out to Ignis for him to grasp. You hold his gaze, unblinking.

The cold blue flame flickering at your fingertips seems to breathe in, yellowing and easily tripling in size and heat and intensity. Startled you break your gaze from Ignis’ and look to your hands, but you feel the message you sent is clear enough.

“…Well done.” Is all he says, taking a step closer to stand at your side, the yellow of your fire seeming to flicker just a little higher at his approach. He breathes in, seeming like he’s about to speak but instead clears his throat. You grin, giving him a coy sideways glance as he finishes, “Now let’s see you wield it.”

 

 

You have to practice for another ninety minutes before you can readily summon and direct the fire. You’re flushed and breathless already, but Ignis insists on some practical application to give you a leg up into your training. You find yourself squared off with Ignis, your dagger retrieved from your bag and clutched in your palm.

“You’ll find I’ve an impressive resistance to fire; Don’t feel the need to hold back,” He says with a smug grin. Your fingers flex on the grip of your dagger. You hadn’t held back with Crowe or any other Glaive who had trained with you. Ignis is more experienced and powerful than any one of them, there’s no reason to temper your skill now.

“You’re going to be needing that potion.” You quip, trying to both shake your nerves and rattle Ignis’ composure before arcing your arm back and hurling your dagger toward the upper balcony behind Ignis.

You watch your blade leave your hand and see every delicate motion of the spinning weapon, and in the breath before it buries itself in the wall of the upper balcony your consciousness follows it, the world blurring and bleeding together for a fraction of a second before your fingers are closed around the hilt of your dagger and you’re tugging it out of the wall thirty feet away from and above Ignis.

“Playing hard-to-get?” He laughs as he summons a lance.

“I’d never play hard-to-get with you,” You cock a brow and send a jet of flame down into the courtyard in his direction, hoping the bold flirtation would startle him enough to land you a hit on him. Ignis’ lance comes flying through your onslaught and buries itself in the metal column below you. You gulp at the sheer force needed to accomplish that, and before you can collect yourself Ignis leaps and grasps the lance using it as a springboard for his momentum, and with a twirl of his weight he lightly rolls onto the balcony next to you. He glances up at you from his crouched position and cockily angles a brow at you.

“Show-off.” You say, but he doesn’t give you another moment as he summons a beautifully intricate dagger and imbues it with flame.

“I’ve only just begun,” He charges you and the only thing you can think to do is try and keep your high ground. You flick your dagger again to the space above and behind him and materialize over his head. Using his shoulder as a launchpad you leap off the balcony and into the open air of the courtyard, twisting as you do so and sending a burst of fire into the balcony.

You hit the rubber of the mat hard, and as you roll you need a moment to orient yourself. You blink rapidly and scan the upper balcony you’d just ignited, but there’s no sign of Ignis, singed or otherwise. You hear a rapid whirring and before you have time to react, Ignis’ dagger is buried in the mat through your pant leg, pinning you in place like a butterfly to a board, as he had done with the man in the ring before you. You hear his feet land close to you, somehow he must have evaded your attack and circled to the other side of the balcony behind you. You twist as well as you can and send an arc of fire from your palm, sweeping as far as your arm will bend. Ignis rolls under the onslaught and you only have moments before he collects himself to throw your blade and warp away from his dagger holding you to the ground.

“Come now, you haven’t put a scratch on me yet!” Ignis’ words are sharp but he’s laughing through them. You can’t help the exhilarated grin spreading across your features, either. “What good is my tutelage if you can’t put it to use?”

You find yourself at odds with Ignis across the ring, daggers clutched in each of yourrespective hands. You’re breathing hard, but Ignis looks at least a little winded as well. You flick your gaze around the ring, trying to determine what you can use to your advantage to immobilize him as the seconds of the stand-off grow more tense, either of you bound to make a move at any moment.

In a flash, Ignis summons a second flaming dagger and moves toward you so quickly that to the untrained eye it would seem like he’s warping. You don’t have time to think beyond reflexively putting your hands out in front of you. Unbidden, fire bursts from your palms in your moment of need, a defense you trusted the magic to provide. You think you can see a flash of pride in Ignis’ eyes before he has to duck and roll out of his trajectory toward you to avoid the brunt of the flames, but he’s not so quick that he escapes without a raw stretch of flesh down his arm. You hear him hiss in pain as he lands at your feet and knocks into you, throwing you backward. You watch him begin to bring the daggers down to try and pin you down again, and at these close quarters he could force you to yield. As you fall you throw your dagger straight into the air and vanish out from under Ignis. You materialize just over his head, and as you begin to descend you put your foot to his shoulder again, meaning to knock him off balance as you leap away. He shifts his weight under you, making you lose your footing as he grasps your other ankle and pulls you to the ground.

“You thought that would work twice?” He quips as your back hits the mat and nearly knocks the wind out of you. Before you have time to react you feel a hand pushing down on your chest and a knee at your wrist, pinning your arm. Eyes spinning, you look up to see a breathless, disheveled Ignis over you, glasses perched too low on the bridge of his nose and face inches from yours.

“Do you yield?” He asks, gaze leveled to yours. You squirm under him, but he’s got you pinned. He’s straddling your waist and has his hand gripped around your other wrist; surely he’s able to feel your elevated pulse through either hand. As you shift under him trying to gain some footing, you feel his grip falter. You think for a moment that he might be worried he’s hurt you, but the way his eyes darken, the sharpness of his wits fading as the intensity of the battle dips, you realize your bodies are intimately intertwined, and he’s losing his edge because of it. You grin, a heady mix of lust and competitiveness pulsing through you. You demurely bite your lip and flutter your gaze away from him, baring your neck.

You hear Ignis’ breath hitch and feel his weight shift, and it’s just enough for you to pry your wrist from under his knee and throw your dagger above him, vanishing out from under him and appearing over his still-kneeling form. You let gravity do its work and bring your weight down on his back. He grunts as his chest hits the mat, and you grab his wrist and twist it behind his back, pulling roughly at the delicate socket in his shoulder. He hisses in your grip, but you think you can hear a trace of a moan buried in his vocalization. Your insides squirm.

“Playing dirty, I see…” Ignis says tightly.

“Do you yield?” You lean down and murmur into his ear. You feel him shudder beneath you and it sends a thrill through you.

“Hardly,” He gives you a strained grin over his shoulder and shifts his free arm under him, palm flat to the ground. In an impressive display of his understated physical strength he lifts your bodies from the ground, causing your vice on his arm to falter as your balance is compromised. He twists into you, pushing his weight and digging his elbow into your ribs as he rolls you off his back and onto the mat. You put out your forearm to break your fall and give you a fulcrum to swing your weight around and make a scramble away from him, but out of nowhere Ignis’ heel sweeps your arm aside, causing your shoulder to hit the ground roughly and your blade to clatter out of your grip. You yelp in surprise and pain and try to roll toward your dagger to make an escape, but Ignis is there with a knee in your back, clutching at your wrists and bringing both your arms sharply behind you, pulling at the ligaments in your shoulders uncomfortably.

“How’s that, then?” He says, winded. You struggle for a moment under him, but there’s no way you can overpower him through strength alone. You gasp, struggling to fill your lungs under the weight of him pressed to your shoulder blades. After a few shallow breaths you chuckle and open your clenched fists. You think you feel Ignis try and hurriedly shift his weight away, but the magic moves faster through you as a column of flame erupts from your palms directly into Ignis’ torso, the force of it knocking him back and off of you. You scramble away and roll to your blade, hardly taking the fraction of a second you need to locate Ignis and hurl your dagger toward him.

As time is still sluggish as you materialize in front of him, you get a look at the state you’ve put him in and a shock of surprise and desire twists through you. He’s gotten himself to his feet in the moments it took for you to scuttle to your dagger, his posture tense and his expression narrow. You’ve burned away a large portion of his t-shirt and a swath of singed skin runs from his hip to his collarbone, baring musculature to you that you’ve yet to witness. His gaze is sharpened by the sting of his skin, his glasses lost somewhere in the arena and hair blown forward over his forehead. He looks like a different man, with all the trappings of vulnerability but with the intense gaze of a fighter. At the enticing sight, you falter in your trajectory to try and crash into and pin him. Ignis wastes no time, handily snatching you from the air and whirling your weight to the ground, falling upon you as your back hits the mat. He clutches both your wrists and pins them above your head, keeping his face away from the line of fire your palms can inflict, and constrained as you are you can’t move your arms enough to throw your blade.

“Now who’s playing dirty?” You grit, a mix of intense and conflicting emotions burning through you at his proximity. He’s stretched over you, face only a few inches from yours, using his hips to push down on your pelvis so you can’t maneuver your weight enough in any one direction to wriggle out from under him or throw him off balance. You can’t help your wandering gaze drifting over the new stretch of skin, musculature pulsing with his even, heavy breaths. The burns across his collarbone and down his forearm are shiny and raw, and the cut on his cheek has reopened and is bleeding slowly down his face, blood collecting and dripping onto your throat. There’s no levity in his expression, just an intense, hungry focus, eyes boring into yours.

“Do you yield?” He asks between breaths, and you can feel his voice vibrate through where his body is pinned against yours. You chuckle, flustered for the first time in a few weeks.

“You seem bothered. Was that more difficult than you thought it would be?” You grin up at him, a flush unrelated to your exertion forming across your skin.

“Do you yield?” He asks again, but you can see his eyes darken and flick over you.

“But if I yield, you’ll move.” You say teasingly, loosening the tension in your arms and drawing your legs up to squeeze his hips with your thighs. His features draw together in a frustrated snarl and you feel him shudder over you. You cock a brow as you grin smugly up at him.

“D-Do you _yield_?” He grits his teeth, the strength leaving his shoulders. He falls to his elbow and presses the length of his burned torso against yours, the desperation in his voice indicative of the strain on his composure. The distance between your faces halved, you lift your head and press your forehead to his, softly brushing the tip of your nose across his.

He crumbles over you, loosing his grip on your wrists and helplessly sighing at your delicately intimate display in the midst of a bloodied, burned bout of physical clashing. You slide your wrists from his hand and brace them against his chest, pushing him off of you and onto his back with no resistance. You gracefully straddle his waist and evenly level your blade to his chin.

“You’ll be the death of me,” He says lovingly as he gazes up at you, a hint of a smile returning to his stern features.

“Well?” You tap the flat of your blade to the underside of his chin, a fiendish grin on your face.

“I yield.” He sighs. “Well done, if a little unorthodoxly”

“A win is a win,” You shrug, standing over him and offering your hand. “Thanks for showing me the basics, Iggy.”

Hearing his nickname, his flush redoubles.

“My genuine pleasure.” He murmurs as he grips your hand and rises to his feet. “Are you hungry? Do you want lunch?”

You smile endearingly. “I’d love lunch, but let’s find your glasses and get that potion for you, first.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ask again for your patience. This chapter doesn't feature Ignis, but I promise the next two are sure to please!

Should the clouds open, snow would blanket the roofs of the higher towers and spires of Insomnia. The mid-December chill has set in, an oppressive cold that takes root in your bones and makes warming yourself a challenge you find possible to meet only under two circumstances: during training when you're exerting yourself to your limits, or when Ignis invites you for dinner and you get to partake in his unparalleled cooking. As it happens, you're doing both today, and the anticipatory thought of dinner being only a few hours away is enough to put a flush in your cheeks, though it's quickly sucked away by the chill in the air. 

You've managed to practice with Ignis a scattered few times over the course of the weeks that have passed since your first sparring session. Each time he remarked upon your skill and improvement, but you noticed he'd changed his method in your more recent duels, playing on the defensive and preferring to keep his distance, trying to get you to yield through sheer exhaustion rather than physical immobilization. It worked; you haven't gotten a win on him since, but there's a twist in your gut that has you examining especially closely the tactician's change in approach. 

It's also been a couple of weeks since you were last paired with Crowe for training. This time specifically she’s training you for elemental application, where she is an even more formidable force. 

"Glad to hear you got bumped up," She nudges you with her fist. "I was worried for a second you'd catch up to me in standard training and it wouldn't be a breeze to wreck your shit anymore."

"Please don't feel the need to show off for me," You laugh a little nervously. "I like not being a charred corpse." 

"I never show off." She shrugs. "And you won't be a charred corpse if you dodge fast enough."

"Maybe I should ask Nyx instead—” 

"I'm kidding," She smirks in your direction. "I'm going to go easy on you. Show me what you've got, though."

Rather than square off in the multi-terrain field you're used to, you walk with Crowe to an indoor gymnasium meant to stand up to the brunt of various elemental damage. The high-ceilinged space is filled with platforms of different heights and accessibilities, meant to present challenges for both warping and physical traversal. All of it is either concrete or metal, the floors of each suspended platform made of iron grating. You shrug off your Glaive coat, grateful for the insulated walls. 

The whole arena is actually massive, but the area you’re in is segmented off by sheets of glass, meant for one-on-one training. You can see other couples or groups of dueling Glaives past the glass in their own quadrants of the arena, and you even spot Sirius battling with a Glaive you don’t recognize. You should say hello and congratulate her on her speedy progress if you get the chance after training.

"You ready?" Crowe unsheathes her blade and idly twirls it.

"You're giving me a warning this time?" You ask with an incredulous chuckle. She smirks, then hurls her blade toward a high platform, materializing an easy fifty feet above you. 

"I mean if you don't want one, then." She raises both hands in front of her and a plume of swirling fire manifests near the ceiling over you. You're awestruck for a moment that she doesn't even need to channel it from her palms and you distantly wonder if Ignis can do the same, but he's been scaling back his offense with you. 

You don't have time to give it any more thought as Crowe brings her hands down in front of her and it literally begins raining fire down on you. You fumble for your blade and throw it directionlessly, just trying to dodge the hellish onslaught. 

"I thought you said you were going to go easy on me!" You cry out from under the shield of a cement outcropping. 

"I had to make sure I got your attention!" She calls down, her words punctuated by a rare, exhilarated laugh. 

The cloud of fire subsides and you scuttle behind a column of cement holding up a platform next to where Crowe stands. If you're going to put a scratch on Crowe, you need to be smart and stay out of her line of sight. She already literally has the high ground. You scan the outcroppings along the walls to try and come up with a plan. You don't think Crowe will move much from the spot she's in—warping isn't her strong suit, so anywhere she moves to will be easily accessed by foot, and the high central platform she’s on is the perfect vantage point. You need to get her somewhere she can't defend as easily or abandon without warping. At least that gives you a basic idea of how you could pin her down. 

You arc back your arm and warp to a low platform, and you sense Crowe hone in on the sound. You need to move quickly. You take a breath and hurl your blade into her line of sight, sending it arcing in a semi circle around her. You hear her ready a burst of flame, surely training it on your blade for when you materialize, but you hope you won't give her the chance. Using every ounce of physical strength you have, you scale the railing up to Crowe's platform as fast as your body will move. Leaping from platform to walkway and throwing your weight into Crowe before she has time to realize what's happening. You grasp onto her just as the magic in your blade takes effect and calls you to it, dragging Crowe along with you to your dagger, mid-air. 

You fall unceremoniously to an isolated platform, rolling as best you can with Crowe in your clutches. She grunts as she hits the grating and you take as best advantage you can of her moment of disorientation to roll one more time and warp away from the platform and out of her line of sight. You hear her boots scrape the flooring as she stands. 

"Smart move." She calls directionlessly. "It takes a lot to catch me off-guard. You been training with someone better than me?" 

She's trying to get you to answer her and reveal your location, but her words make your stomach plummet. She has a way of catching on, whether she knows it or not. You swallow and exhale, peeking from behind the column of concrete and summoning a preemptive flame, cradled in your palm. You're behind and under her, and you can see her through the grating of the flooring. You put both palms out in front of you and inhale, sending a jet of flame through the grate, knocking Crowe off her feet and unintentionally sending her hurtling from the platform. You gasp and arc your arm back, ready to warp to her and catch her, but she pulls her dagger from its sheath and hurls it toward where the attack had come from—toward you. 

She appears in front of you with her boot already out, kicking you in the stomach and knocking the wind out of you. She falls upon you, crouched over you as you gasp for air that won't come. She coughs and swallows, fighting to regain her own breath from the heat and smoke of your attack and the strain of multiple warps. 

“You—" She coughs once more. "You thought I needed saving? You're doing pretty good but not _that_ good." 

Your diaphragm uncramps and you pull a ragged breath into your lungs, and with a sly grin you gasp, 

"You look worse for wear,"

"I'll show you worse for wear." She levels her palm to your face, the glow of flame not yet born already gathering heat. "Yield, kiddo. I've got you pinned." 

She's not wrong; She's too close to compose a direct attack that she can't just knock away. You flick your gaze around, trying to find something you could use to take her off guard or push her away from you. You spot your dagger where it had skittered after being knocked from your hand as you fell to the floor, teetering precariously on the edge of the platform. A spark ignites in your eyes. With a brow cocked, you bring your fist down as hard as you can on the grating, rattling the platform and tipping your blade over the edge. Crowe realizes what you're doing a second before you dissolve from under her and follow your blade as it falls to the platform below it. 

You land hard, the residual magic shattering away from you as you wobble to your feet ten yards below Crowe. She stares down at you, and you shakily extend your arms to the sides, egging her on. 

"Well? Come on. Come get me." You say, knowing full well she's approaching the warp limit of what her body can take. She sneers at you and levels her palms in your direction. You bring your forearm up and preemptively summon a shield of hexagonal light and magic.

The two of you stand off for several breaths before Crowe reluctantly throws her blade toward you. You grin as her light flits toward your platform, bracing yourself behind your shield. As she materializes, she seems to do so in a burst of flame, the light blinding you and catching you off-guard. You stumble back, bracing for an onslaught, but as her plume of fire dwindles you spot her crouched in front of you, dizzy and out of breath. 

"Damn, I was hoping that would knock you on your ass," She says between labored breaths. "Oh well." From her position at your feet she turns her palms up and sends a jet of fire under your shield, effectively trapping you against the flame. You cry out and dismiss your shield hurriedly, but the skin along your chest is raw and stinging. As you swing your arm away from yourself in an attempt to escape the heat trapped under your shield, Crowe leaps toward you and knocks you to the ground, snatching your blade from your hand as you tumble to the floor. She stands hurriedly and sheaths both blades at her hip.

"Nice tactics, kiddo." She says, still shaky as she levels her hands toward you. "But I want to see what your offense is like." 

Without your blade your movements are limited, but Crowe's reaching the end of her capacity to evade you or make a powerful attack, the successive warping having taken its toll on her. You feign confidence and smirk.

"You asked for it," You sweep your arm in an arc, sending fire in as many directions as you can. As Crowe rolls under the flame you make a leap in her direction, but Crowe brings both hands up toward the ceiling and a column of fire bursts from the floor under you, shooting you upward and back. You impact with the railing behind you and cry out, crumpling to the floor. Crowe stands and moves toward you, blade out and ready to level it to your chin. You grit your teeth through the pain in your spine and roll to your left, right off the edge of the platform. You hear Crowe gasp as you disappear off the edge. 

"Kid!" She yells, scurrying to the railing with her arm arced back, ready to throw it and catch you. She falters in her movements when she sees your fingers clutching the edge of the platform. From your place dangling just under her, you press a palm to the underside of the grating and summon all the firepower you can in a column, engulfing Crowe and rocketing her upward and back. She hits the flooring as your attack subsides, the vibrations nearly causing your precarious, one-handed grip to fail. You clamber back up the railing and roll onto the grating, gasping for breath. At your side, you hear Crowe coughing. You shift your gaze to her and see her hurriedly unlacing and tearing off her boots; the soles have melted, and the burning pain in her feet makes her hiss as she throws the ruined boots off the side of the platform. Breathing raggedly, she flops back down next to you. 

"I think that's enough for today. I’m one pair of boots down and one warp away from hurling.” She says between breaths.

"Yeah. Let's call it a draw."

 

Back on ground level, each of you use a potion and sigh as new flesh replaces the stinging, raw stretches of dead skin and exposed tissue.

"So," Crowe begins, bringing a water bottle to her mouth. "Your fire isn't anything super impressive."

Your brows raise in shock and hurt, but as you open your mouth to protest her harsh words she raises her pointer finger in your direction, indicating for you to wait as she gulps down water. "But," She continues, wiping her mouth. "That was some of the smartest field movement I've seen in the new recruits, and it's even better than some of the senior Glaives'." She raises a brow at you. "Especially considering your elemental capabilities manifested, what, six or seven weeks ago?" You nod as she continues. "Considering that, playing it smart like that is a way more savvy method than trying to use firepower alone for your first few months. Keep working on the intensity of your magic, but whatever it is that you're doing that's giving you that tactical edge, _definitely_ keep doing that. That’s what’s going to save your ass in a tight spot, not the magic.” 

You flush. 

"Thanks, Crowe." 

"Sure," She flops down against the wall, sighing exhaustedly. You join her and drink thirstily from the water bottle she offers you as she idly watches other sparring matches taking place in other glassed-off segments of the arena. "I'm impressed, kiddo. You've come a long way in a really short amount of time. Really cramming the EXP in." She chuckles. "I guess that's probably the best possible way we could live our lives."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we need to, I don’t know, use every second to its max, I guess. We're Glaives. We hope for the best, but we don't know how much time we have. Niflheim could attack and we could be dead tomorrow for all we know. We can't count on there being 'plenty of time' for anything, you know? We don't have enough days guaranteed to us to just fuck around with the stuff that could matter." She pauses, seeming to catch herself, then chuckles a little irritatedly. "You really must have clocked me hard, I never say gooey shit like that."

She’s brushing them off, but you’re suddenly struck by her words, chewing your lip as she finishes. She nudges you out of your silence.

“Hey?”

“Yeah! Yeah, um…I think that…you’re right, that’s all.” And she is. You feel a twin stabs of shame and regret as you realize you’ve been wasting time fucking around with what could really matter, time that wasn’t guaranteed to you at the outset, time you could have spent…

Your eyes glass over with sudden tears, but you rub them away before they can fall. Crowe gulps down the remaining contents of the water bottle and stands up next to you, stretching a hand down for you to grasp.

“Nice work, kiddo.”

“Thanks, Crowe.” You say again, a little weakly as you grip her outstretched hand and pull yourself to your feet. “I’ll pay for some new boots for you.”

“Sounds good to me. Ugh, damn it, I gotta walk back to the changing room barefoot.”

“Want a piggy back ride?”

“I’d rather die, to be honest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm exuberant about this fic approaching 1000 hits, and every time I see a new comment it immediately puts me in a good mood. Thank you to all my readers! The best is yet to come!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up youtube it's ya girl Sylph and it's time for some angst and feels!

Your heart hammers as you shower after you finish training. The apprehension in your guts makes your hair stand up along your arms and on the back of your neck and an uneasy blush color your cheeks. You can't really put any reason to it, you think as you step out of the shower and begin to towel off, other than you feel guilty.

As you ascend the floors to Ignis' home, Crowe's words and their unintended revelation rattle around your mind. This might turn out to be a mistake, you think, breathing as evenly as you can as you knock on his door, but if it's not, do you really have the time to risk missing out on it? Do you really have more time to waste on just thinking about it? Do you really need more time to know what you want? 

No, you think as a flutter goes through your heart at the sound of Ignis' approaching footsteps. No, if this is a mistake, if it turns out that Insomnia achieves peace tomorrow and you live until 100, if you decide somewhere along the way that Ignis being unable to give more of his life to you is incongruent with what you want, should that bridge come you'll worry about crossing it only then. That future isn't guaranteed. You swallow as Ignis opens the door. What you have is the present, what you have is what's in front of you. You should enjoy what you have while you have it. But more importantly, should this be what Ignis wants, you should have shown him the same kindness—

“Welcome back,” Ignis says to you, cutting off your train of thought and opening the door wider for you to step into his home. The intense cold in the air has prompted the need for a fire, burning steadily and calmly in the hearth in the far wall of his living room. Nerves flickering, you grin inwardly. For hearth and home, hm? That’s why you’re fighting, after all.

The orange of the tame blaze colors the walls at wavering intervals, but the lights in the kitchen drown out the dull amber of the fire as you take a seat along the counter at the bar. Since your first dinner here, you’ve found it less intimidating to spend time in his home while there was at least a veneer of a casual atmosphere, and Ignis hasn’t prompted you on it, so you’ve continued to eat with him in his kitchen.

“What’s on the menu?”

“Something outside my comfort zone, actually,” He begins. You raise a brow.

“What on Eos could you possibly not be amazing at?”

“Please, you’ll make me blush,” He chuckles, indeed a rosy flush tinting his high cheekbones. “To answer your question, I thought maybe something sweet would be a nice change of pace.”

You can’t help the child-like grin that bursts over your features.

“What is it? What?”

Ignis smiles endearingly.

“You do like chocolate, yes?”

 

You’ve never been to Altissia. The only regional cuisine you’ve had has been the pale boxed reproductions you’ve found at stores or honest but lacking attempts at recreations you’ve eaten at a scattered handful of restaurants. So when Ignis presents to you a delicately folded, chocolate-and-berry-stuffed crepe, you nearly start bouncing in your seat.

“Please bear in mind, I’ve been toying with sugary foods for a long time but have yet to be satisfied with any outcome.”

You’re already segmenting off a piece with the edge of your fork and bringing it to your mouth. As you begin chewing, you almost sob with happiness. The batter is thin but fluffy and delicately sweet, and the chocolate and almond paste is as heavenly as any dessert, set off by the sharp tang of the fruit nestled at intervals into the pastry. A sprig of mint sits decoratively atop it, the scent clearing your palate for the next bite.

“I’m going to start crying, this is so good. Shut the hell up about not knowing your way around a pastry, Ignis.”

“If you insist,” He laughs, discreetly pulling his little black notebook from his back pocket and making a note, swelling not with pride but perhaps gratitude. He flicks his eyes to you as he closes the notebook, something warm and nervous in his gaze.

 

The two of you have gotten to the point where you can chat easily. As your cleaned plates sit on the counter in front of you, you discuss the progress you’ve been making in your elemental training. He tells you about the latest escapades of the royal retinue, his Prince, his uncle who works in the Citadel—your curiosity piqued, you ask him,

“Have you mentioned me to your friends?”

His features rearrange into an expression of hesitance.

“No, not yet. I admit I don’t know what I would tell them. I, ah,” He shifts in his seat, displaying a rare moment of uncertainty in his words. “I don’t know what we are.”

Your stomach floods with apprehension. You draw breath as evenly as you can as he continues.

“If you care to do so, I was…I was hoping we could discuss that tonight.”

You legs begin fidgeting under the countertop.

“Yeah. I was kind of thinking the same thing.”

“Ah. Good, good. If…If I might go first?”

You’re taken aback. This is unusual for him. Almost always he prefers to hear you speak first, doubtlessly tailoring his own progression through your interactions based upon your real-time map of your feelings. Nervous, you nod, indicating for him to continue. He interlaces his fingers on the counter in front of him, his eyes trained on his hands.

“I’m afraid I need to confess something very selfishly.” This alone knocks you dumb. He swallows before continuing. “You asked me once if I fall in love easily, and I think I’m equipped enough to answer that now. I think the answer is no, I don’t fall in love easily.”

Your heart sinks, but he reassuringly, hesitantly, reaches to grasp your hand on the counter, turning toward you and leveling his gaze to yours. “In fact, I think it’s only under very specific conditions that I would fall in love. That is to say—” He turns toward you fully and stands from the barstool, reaching out and clasping your other hand. “…I think I needed to find the right person.”

Sitting as you are, Ignis towers over you, your forehead easily only brushing the apex of his ribcage. Your head is tilted back to look up at him, and though faint, you can see real fear in his eyes. You can see playing out in his soul the vulnerable dance he had instructed you to undertake when first teaching you to summon fire. You can see him baring himself to you, despite his disposition, his upbringing, his calling; despite all facets of his life tailoring him to be cautious and never make a move he wasn’t certain he could recover from, he’s taking this risk with you, for you, asking for a connection and trusting that when he reaches out to you, you’ll take his hand. You feel tears prick in your eyes as he continues, his voice even but tense.

“You told me at the aquarium that you were unsure how much time we should spend together; that you didn’t want to risk breaking my heart should you decide against pursuing something more permanent with me. My answer to you then was that the risk was worth it. I stand by what I said. I am grateful to have shared whatever small tests of these waters you’ve undertaken with me.”

Your head is whirling. As the tears gather in your shocked, wide eyes you see Ignis concentrate on keeping his breathing slow and even, fighting a nervous tremor in his diaphragm.

"I said before I would be satisfied if friendship were all you would ask of me. If you decide that you want to spend your emotional currency on someone who can be wholly committed to you right off, of course I will understand, and I would not dream of pressing it further. It is not my intention to sway your choice by confessing this, but…” He falters here, and you feel his grasp on your hands tighten just a little. “but I just…needed to tell you of the depth of my feelings before you tell me what you’ve decided.”

The intensity and rawness of his words leave you frozen as the tears fall down your cheeks. His every line of defense lowered and every instinct of caution thrown to the wind, his confession to you is a surrender to both his own feelings and your judgement.

“When did this happen?” You ask. It’s all you can summon, for the moment.

“…When you showed me you could handle fire,” He begins softly. “ and when you told me you only were granted the ability after meeting me. It…moved me, to think there was the influence of magic at play between us. How could I be so cold as to discount the romance of it?” He smiles shyly, nervously, cautiously lifting a hand and brushing a tear away from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry if I’ve upset you—”

“No, no, it’s not that,” You interject before he can misconstrue your tears further and you raise your now-free hand to cover the back of his, pressed to your cheek. “I don’t even know why I’m crying. I think…I’m feeling guilty.”

Never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, the flutter of Ignis’ eyes and soft exhalation through delicately parted lips at your words leaves you struck, and you press his hand a little more firmly to your cheek, suddenly needing to reassure this man in his moment of vulnerability.

“…Oh?” Is all he manages, at a rare loss for words. You exhale slowly. It’s your turn to be vulnerable now.

“I think I owe you an apology, Ignis.”

Confusion and apprehension draw his features together, and he runs his thumb softly over your cheekbone.

“Whatever for?”

“Two things,” You steady yourself against his palm, but can’t help your gaze flicking to the ground. “First, I’m sorry for taking so long to give you a straightforward answer,”

“That’s hardly—” He begins, but you slip your hand off the back of his, cradled to your face, and gesture with your pointer finger for him to let you finish.

“Because—I should have been taking the time I have more seriously. I haven’t been thinking about…about us in the context I should have been. I’m a Glaive—a soldier. I’m going to be in some risky situations…” Your voice begins to waver. “I know it sounds dramatic, but I’m sorry to have spent the past couple months not using the time you gave me to its fullest. It’s not fair to either of us. I want to spend my present with you, and I’ve been too hung up about a future I might not live to see. Which,”

You swallow, the tears staring to build and fall more quickly. Ignis tentatively wipes them away with his thumb one by one as they trail past his hand against your cheek. The tender gesture helps you steel yourself and you draw in breath to continue,

“W-Which…brings me to my second apology. We’ve been treating this like you’re the only one whose life isn’t ideal for a relationship. We’ve been treating it like I don’t have anything that you’d have to resign yourself to living with. That’s not the case. Ignis, I could die on the field.” Your eyes shimmer and your breath hitches. A sorrowful kind of worry flutters over Ignis’ features and he clasps your hand more firmly as you continue.

“I should have given you an ultimatum for you to consider as well, and I didn’t. If you want to think past spending the present with me, until Insomnia achieves peace, you’ll have to live with the possibility that I might not come home one day because Niflheim killed me.” You stifle a sob. “You told me I would need to be okay with you being gone a lot. But compared to…to…” You take a moment to wipe your tears roughly, and Ignis tentatively lifts his hand from your cheek as you do so, instead clasping both his hands around your other palm.

“This is a serious risk you need to consider whether or not you’re alright with taking. And maybe you’d already thought of all this, but if you haven’t, and if you’ve got these deep feelings for me now, you need to reconcile them with my…mortality, I guess. If that’s the case, it was cruel of me to just let this happen. I’m so sorry. I was being selfish, letting you bear this by yourself when really we’re both a little fucked. I’m so sorry.”

Brows peaked, Ignis tentatively rests his hand by your temple and smoothes his fingers through your hair. The quiet gesture of kindness as you cry almost makes you sob harder. He pulls you gently from the barstool to your feet and draws you into his chest, cradling his free arm around you as he continues to run his fingers through your hair. The soothing sensation coupled with the even pulse of his heart by your ear has your tears subsiding as quickly as they had struck. 

"You needn't feel so guilty," He murmurs into your hair, encircling you with both his arms now and holding you steadily upright against him. "Should Niflheim attack the city, we all have sworn oaths to lay down our lives in one form or another. If anything, my ultimatum to you is optimistic. Perhaps yours is the more reasonable outlook."

"Even so, we could have been...I've wasted _months_ ," You say, face buried into his chest, a shame-filled blush rising. You circle your arms around his waist and clutch him closer. 

"It's hardly a waste." He says softly, and you hear his heart pick up time in his chest. "I said before that I didn't shy from your company because you were so patient with me. If it weren't for the past few months unfolding as they did, who is to say I would have developed these feelings as I have?" You feel him gently brush your cheek, asking for you to look up at him. You turn your face toward his, taking in the depth of green and sharp cheekbones and adoring expression. "My dear, it was not a waste of time because I needed that time. If you felt this strongly all along, I apologize for making you wait for me to catch up." 

He brushes his lips against your forehead and you crumble again into his arms.

"I'm doing this all wrong, aren't I? I'm making a mess out of this," You let out a rueful chuckle. Ignis joins you in your small grin. 

"All's fair, my dear." His expression shifts slightly and he draws a hesitant breath. "Am I to understand that you...that is, have you chosen to...?" 

You can't help the endearing giggle that escapes you. You've never seen him leave a sentence hanging like this. He's choosing now to be uncertain and shy, after all said and done in moments past? You wipe your residual tears on the heel of your palm and nod.

"Yes." 

"You're sure? Ours wouldn't be as picturesque a romance as some would have."

"I don't need picturesque. If we can figure out a way through the drama and baggage and conflicting work schedules, then all I want is what you have to give." You chuckle a little feverishly, the honesty and emotion of the past minutes settling and revealing a lightheaded levity. "And your damned good looks make up for any lack of picturesqueness there might be elsewhere in the relationship."

"You're one to talk." He says, a blush dusting his features.

"Stop that." 

"I won't." He grins, pulling back just slightly to lean down to you and press his forehead to yours, eyes closed. You close your eyes too for a beat, slowing your breathing to match his and taking in his scent of ash and cloves. After a moment he asks, "Would you like me to take you home?"

Your fingers flex at his waist. 

"What do you want?"

"I want you to stay," He admits readily. "But if you must go, I ask you at least let me drive you." 

You think shakily, your mind still coming down from all this. You don't have anything to sleep in, nor anything you'd need for a morning routine before you report tomorrow. You're reluctant to leave his company as well, but like you two have resigned yourselves to, there will likely be many of these moments where it just makes more sense to call it a night. 

 

 

The ride is mostly quiet. Not much more needs to be said right now. His hand is intertwined with yours, resting on the center console of the car. When he glances at you, there's a softness about his angled, stern features that makes you feel safe. 

He steps out of his car and circles to the passenger side, opening the door for you and offering his hand for you to take. You feel a flutter in your stomach, and you can't help but chuckle a little that after all this time, after your increasingly bold flirtations, after your joint confessions, now is when you get flustered once more.

The mirror image of when you first fell for him plays out before you as he walks you to the door of your building and presses his lips to the back of your hand. It almost brings you to tears again. 

"I would kiss you, but if I did, I don't think I could bring myself to leave." Ignis confesses, lightly pressing his forehead to yours. 

"I wish I could have stayed," You brush the tip of your nose to his and hear the Adam's apple shift in his throat. "Would you wait here for a few minutes? I have an idea." 

"Of course." Ignis stands and lets go of your hand, curiosity piqued. You open the door to your building and invite him to wait where it's warm in the small heated lobby. You ascend the stories to your apartment, nearly throwing your purse to the side and diving to your dresser, pulling open drawers and stuffing essentials into a small backpack. It takes you a second to locate a toothbrush still in the packaging, and you shove it into the backpack alongside the other necessities. You scurry back to the ground floor and find Ignis, bashfully extending the pack toward him. 

"Would you hold onto this? It's an overnight bag for me." 

Ignis' brows raise but there's a smile forming on his face.

"Are you planning on staying the night with me soon?"

You flush, eyes darting, but your voice is even as you reply,

"I just want to make it easy to spend time with you when I can. If that's at night, then," You shrug, trailing off. Ignis takes the backpack and shifts it under his arm. 

"I look forward to when you're in need of it." 

You blush deeper, fidgeting with your fingers. A few weeks ago at the sparring arena you were pinned under him and clutching his hips with your thighs; now you're crumbling under a suggestive sentence enveloped by his delicious accent. You smirk a little wryly. The context of the established relationship seems to have shifted your bravery back a few paces. New rules are in place, driven now by love rather than lust, and it would seem you're still shy on that front. 

He softly brushes his knuckles along your cheek. You reach up and cup his hand with yours, pressing your cheek into his palm. Looking into his sharp, graceful eyes filled with a soft adoration bolsters you, and you draw breath to reply,

"I hope it's soon." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO BLESSED I just saw that this fic has reached 1000 hits! I love all of you and I am so grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read/kudos/comment <3 This is a good chapter to post in celebration!


	14. Chapter 14

It's rare that Glaives are given holidays off, and never is the whole of the Kingsglaive away from the Citadel, but New Year's Day is one of the few occasions where you and many of your comrades are given a day to recover from celebrating the night before. As of late, New Year's Eve festivities have taken on a more poignant importance. In times of war, making it to a new year is something to be held dear, indeed. 

Many of the senior and veteran Glaives are tasked with remaining at their posts, but as your training on the 31st winds down and you glance over who is meant to report tomorrow, you don't spot a few of your veteran friends' names. You grin; you hope you see them at the party tonight.

Ignis had openly admitted to you that it’s unlikely he will be able to join you for any festivities, since he needs to accompany his Prince wherever he wants to go for the evening. You couldn’t hide your disappointment completely, but on the other hand you also don’t know how he would fare in the middle of a Glaive party at a bar: thrown to the wolves as you debuted him as your boyfriend to a bunch of your rough-around-the-edges, drunken friends. You imagine Sirius trying to hand him drinks. It might be better to hold off on the large groups for now.

Rather than your usual off-duty look, you opt for something just a little nicer for tonight. It’s difficult to balance staying warm with looking nice, but you think you do an okay job as you fish out a long grey wool coat from the back of your closet and pair it with some knee-high black boots pulled over your dark jeans.

You pull your violet scarf close around your neck and step from your apartment building, but your pace falters when you see Ignis’ car lined up with the curb outside your door. Happy to see him but curious, you scuttle down the stairs and pull open the passenger door, sliding into the seat next to him.

“Hey! I thought you said you were going to be busy?”

“I will be a little later tonight.”

“You didn’t show up just to drive me to a new year’s party you’re not even going to, did you?” Your words are incredulous but you can’t help the smile creeping over your features.

“Not solely,” He smiles a little guiltily. “Noct insisted on sleeping for another hour so I found myself suddenly available.” He rolls his eyes but there’s a hint of levity in the rest of his features. “If you’re on a schedule then of course I wouldn’t ask you change your plans, but I thought of something we could do together before tonight’s real festivities start.”

“Oh!” You think for a moment, you were leaving early anyway, and if Ignis would drop you off, you can save the time you would have spent taking the train… “Is it far?”

“Not at all. In fact, where were you headed? It might even be on the way.”

“Constellation, if you remember where that is?”

“How could I forget?” He grins slyly in your direction and you blush. “We’re in luck. Should you like to accompany me, I can guarantee I’ll deliver you to your other obligation on time.”

“I mean, I’m not going to say no, you’ve got me curious now.” You put as much charm into your smile as you can and Ignis’ expression lights up as he starts his car, the vibrations thrumming through you as he pulls away from your street. You shyly interlace your fingers with his on the center console.

 

You really don’t travel that far before Ignis is pulling into a cul-de-sac in a residential neighborhood, perched on a tall hill and equidistant from the Citadel and your home. You look around curiously as Ignis clicks a button on the dashboard of his car, and you spot a garage door open. You turn your eyes to him, surprised.

“Is this that apartment?”

“It is.” He pulls into the bare garage and parks, pulling the key from the ignition. “It’s a little sparsely furnished since I generally don’t spend much time here, I hope you won’t mind.”

“Well no, but…I mean, what’s the thing? What are we doing?”

“You’ll see.” He gives you a sly sideways glance and pulls himself from the driver’s seat. You follow suit and smooth your coat as you stand. When you glance up you catch Ignis staring at you.

“What?”

“Violet suits you.”

You look down and touch a hand to your scarf, realizing now why you had picked this color. You flush.

“It…reminded me of you.”

“I’m flattered.” Ignis grins bashfully, extending his hand to you. You take it gingerly and let him lead you into his building.

The elevator ride to the top floor of the apartment building is short compared to the one to Ignis' Citadel home, but you do stifle a grin, the fact that he lives on the fifth of five floors not lost on you. He glances your way as the doors slide open and he leads you down the hall.

"What?"

"You didn't want to deal with upstairs neighbors?"

He chuckles. "I didn't have a hand in selecting the unit here, but being on the top floor does come in handy when I mostly just come here to sleep. It also plays a part in what I want to show you.”

Upon entering, you see he wasn't exaggerating when he said it was underfurnished. The living room only consists of a couch and a coffee table. The kitchen though, what you can see of it, seems stocked enough for Ignis to work uninhibited. You can see a hall leading to at least three doorways, all closed, but presumably one of them is the bedroom and presumably has at least a bed. 

"Oh wow, you really don't spend a lot of time here," You say, and you can hear your voice echo just a little off the bare walls of the living room. Ignis shrugs.

"It's not home," He says lightly. "just a house. There is however something I enjoy thoroughly about this place around this time of year." He grins coyly and leads you to a large sliding glass door opening to a balcony wrapping around the corner of his apartment. You step out onto the wooden planks and walk with Ignis to the stretch of the balcony facing toward the city and lean against the railing. You can see the Citadel and the surrounding structures in the middle distance, but you still need to tilt your head back to see the top of the spires. The sprawling buildings of the middle and outer rings of districts radiate from it, and from the balcony you have a good view of the breadth of the city. The sun is nearly hidden below the horizon, the mid-winter days short and the light fleeting. Lights in the streets and buildings before you begin to flicker on, and as opposed to viewing night descending over the city from the dizzying height of Ignis' home in the Citadel, from here there's a close familiarity of being able to discern the shape and color of the lights and which streets they adorn. 

"I like the view from here," You confess.

"You're about to like it more, I daresay." Ignis is nearly vibrating, something you find acutely endearing and also incredibly unusual. What's he up to? "There are always quite a few who begin their celebration early."

After a few moments pass, the sun resigning its last holds on the skyline, a single point of light rockets from somewhere in the city and bursts into color in the distance. 

"Ah, there we go." Ignis circles his arm around your waist and glances at you as you watch the city skyline begin to pulse sporadically with fireworks. Were you in the high reaches of Ignis' Citadel home the display would be distant and minimized, and if you were in the streets your view would be mostly blocked by surrounding buildings. At the slightly elevated view from Ignis' apartment here, the fireworks are all bursting at eye level, full spheres of color and light and splendor spanning in all directions at random into the distance toward the walls. The light reflects just slightly on the shield around the city, the explosions of color caught for a moment longer as ghosts in the hexagonal barrier before dissipating. You're speechless as you watch, hardly blinking and stomach fluttering. The gesture is so simple, but Ignis bringing you to his house to surprise you with a good view of a city-wide celebration is unilaterally the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for you. You watch for a few minutes in comfortable, wonderstruck silence, Ignis' arm looped at your waist.

"They'll continue like this, but surely the best display will be when midnight strikes." Ignis breaks the silence at your side, color and light reflected in his glasses. "Though we'll both be at our respective previous engagements, so these early smatterings will need to do."

"This is perfect," You breathe, tearing your gaze away from the fireworks at the horizon and shyly giving Ignis a grateful, meaningful look. There's a flush on his high cheekbones as he meets your gaze, and the soft grin at his mouth dissolves into something else, an anticipatory uncertainty making his lips part around his breath. He tentatively pulls you closer to him and presses his gloved hand to your cheek. The smell of the leather mixes with the rest of him and you stand on your toes to press your forehead against his, noses brushing. 

You sense Ignis freeze and can feel the staccato pulse in his throat as you softly cup his sharply angled jaw. His fingers flex at your waist. You know if either of you blink the mounting tension here will break, but you can't bring yourself to do so, your nerves vibrating as the sounds of the fireworks across Insomnia boom around you. The Adam's apple shifts in his throat as he swallows and you feel his breath across your lips as he exhales slowly. It's too much. 

"Stop being a tease," You murmur, desperation clear in the tense pull of your voice. Needing no further consent, Ignis shifts just slightly and presses his lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut and you pull him flush against you, a sharp inhale encasing a contented vocalization. You feel him tentatively run the tip of his tongue over your bottom lip and the intensity of the chemical shift in your body almost draws a sob from your throat. 

The oppressive cold of the open air is quickly forgotten as you helplessly part your lips against his. He tastes like coffee and snow. Distantly you recall him telling you he's never been in a relationship before and you wonder if this is his first kiss. You smile against his mouth and push your fingers through his hair, pulling his kiss harder into yours. A startled vocalization escapes him but it quickly melts into a soft, surrendering hum. A thought composes itself in your brain at the sound, and like a beam of light through parted clouds you realize you're so in love with this man, you could cry. 

The sound of the sliding glass door opening roughly startles both of you and puts an abrupt end to your intimacy. Flushed and confused, you turn as you hear a voice.

"Hey Iggy, the fireworks woke me up so if you're ready to...go to the..."

On the balcony with you stands Prince Noctis, eyes still half lidded from his interrupted nap, but confusion and disbelief quickly overtake his features as his eyes flick between the two of you, arms still wrapped around each other. 

"...I just...I let myself in..." He gestures vaguely back into the apartment. Ignis hurriedly stands straight, pulling himself from the moment of shock. 

"Highness, this is..." He glances at you, the mortification clear on your features. He squeezes your hand reassuringly and says, "...this is my girlfriend." 

Prince Noctis' eyebrows disappear behind his bangs. You feverishly stand straight and salute, head bowed and fist to your heart.

"My Prince." You say as clearly as your trembling diaphragm will allow. This seems to knock the Prince from his incredulous surprise and he shakes his head softly, waving a hand and smiling.

"No, no, none of that." He steps forward and extends his hand toward you. "If you're..." He chuckles, shaking his head a little. "If you're actually what Ignis says you are, then I'm Noct to you." 

You hesitantly release your tense salute and numbly take his proffered hand, shaking it and introducing yourself. 

"It's nice to meet you. _Ignis_ hasn't mentioned you." He glances pointedly at him over your shoulder. 

"It's...a recent development," Ignis is blushing and you're unsure how much of it is leftover from your kiss and how much of it is embarrassment that you two were caught in the act. “And you haven’t asked.” He adds.

“How was I supposed to know to _ask_ , Ignis?” Noctis turns his eyes back to you. They’re elegantly slanted and a dark cobalt, deep like an underwater canyon. “Right?” He seeks your agreement and you numbly nod. He smirks and flicks his eyes back to Ignis. “See?”

“Noct, please. No need to force her to side with you.”

“I’m not making her take sides.” He shrugs loosely but there’s a cocky angle to his expression. “Anyway, Iggy and the rest of us were going to go paint the town. Wanna come?”

You freeze. Can you say no? Is that allowed? Ignis picks up on your hesitation.

“Unfortunately she’s committed to other events this evening.”

“Like making out?”

“NOCT.” Ignis blanches and your eyes dart around. Noctis flicks his gaze between the two of you and understanding shifts over his features.

“Oh. Uh…hey, listen, I’m sorry I barged in. I should have rang the doorbell.”

Ignis sighs behind you.

“Regardless, if you’re ready to leave then we would have cut our time short.”

“I wouldn’t have made you. Do you wanna stay? Promto, Gladio, Iris, and I would probably have more fun without you,” He gives Ignis a sideways grin.

“Oh but that’s exactly why I need to accompany you. You’ll doubtlessly do some ill-advised things otherwise,” Ignis smirks. Noctis’ grin melts into an eye roll. “I’m not wrong, Noct. I recall a young Prince sneaking off into the city by himse—”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be at my place. Come get me when you’re…you know, done here.” He makes a vague gesture to the pair of you, his dark eyes flicking to you again. “You’re sure you can’t ditch whatever you’ve got going? I’ve got questions I’m dying to ask you.”

You glance uncertainly at Ignis, who nods encouragingly. You gulp and say,

“I-I already have plans, Your Highn—Noct.”

“Alright, suit yourself.” He shrugs and a grin slides over his features. He turns and waves over his shoulder. “See you in a bit, Iggy. You driving?”

“Of course.”

“’K.” He disappears around the corner and you hear the sliding glass door shut behind him. You exhale and let out a feverish chuckle.

“He’s…laid back,” You say, hands trembling. Ignis clasps them both with his.

“There’s no need to be shaken, though I’m sorry for the rough introduction. I was hoping to have more circumstance around introducing you to my peers.” He sighs. “Though I’m afraid I do need to take you to Constellation now; Noct will be waiting for me.”

You nod, your nerves settling. Your gaze finds the ground and you demurely look up at him through your lashes. 

"You introduced me as your girlfriend."

“I did. Is that not the case?"

"It is. It's just the first time you've said it." You fight the urge to bury your face in your hands as a happy blush settles over your features. Ignis smiles softly and draws you into his chest.

"I would ask to keep kissing you, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to bring myself to stop and we would both miss our engagements."

You shyly hide your face against his collarbone and give a muffled, regretful agreement. 

"Shall we, then? Best not keep our parties waiting."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an appropriate chapter to post for the 100 Kudos milestone!! Thank you all for liking this, the slowest burning slow burn to ever slowly burn--and we ain't even got to the sex yet. Bless you readers brave enough to traverse this harrowing landscape of coy glances and blushing flirtations with me, I love you guys sm. <3  
> also *SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE* WHO WANTED TO MEET NOCT RAISE YO HANDS THIS IS FOR YOU <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess, I agonized over this chapter for several reasons. Without giving too much away, I go into the side effects of wielding the Crystal's magic here for a payoff in part 2, but that caused a few things to be made necessary. First, this is a heavy chapter involving some less-than-great choices on the Reader's part, and secondly, Sirius is playing a bigger part here than I originally envisioned. This made me nervous, since she's a non-canon character that's spending a lot of time on screen, but my goal in creating a close friend and contemporary baked into the FFXV universe to act as a foil for some of the Reader's turmoil is to help you slip into these chapters, and I hope it makes for an enjoyable read. As always, thank you for reading <3

There's a decently sized crowd milling outside of Constellation, most either smoking or on a phone call, but the interior of Constellation is more packed than you've ever seen it. The sheer volume of sensory input on top of your still frantically beating heart has you a little overwhelmed. You feel a hand grasp your wrist and you turn to see Sirius, a fiendish grin on her face. You glance behind her and see the door swinging shut, indicating she was among the crowd outside just moments ago. 

"So who was dropping you off in that fancy car?"

"Happy New Year to you too, Sirius."

"Hell yeah! That's what I thought, _trap_ that blueblood."

"How are you just..." You clutch the bridge of your nose, but you're grinning broadly. "I swear there aren't any dirty details yet. You'll be the first to know, _kohai_." You say, pointedly. She chuckles and leads you by the wrist through the crowded tables to where you recognize some familiar faces. Nyx has his feet propped up on the table, lazily cupping quiet flames in his palm as he chats with the half-dozen other veteran Glaives he has with him. You spot Libertus and Luche, and a Glaive you’ve overheard Crowe call Pelna. But as you scan the handful of tables occupied by the twenty or twenty-five other Glaives that are here tonight, you don't see Crowe. 

"Sit next to me!" Sirius nearly bounds over to a pair of open chairs and you clatter into the one next to Nyx. He chuckles and ruffles your hair. 

"What's good, rookie? Happy New Year."

"Hey, I'm hardly a rookie. I'm doing elemental training now." 

"Oh yeah? Hey Sirius, have you shown your upperclassman your new technique?" He smirks and you turn your attention to Sirius, confused. She grins and reaches across your lap, grasping Nyx's drink and bringing it to her lips. You watch a glint flicker in her eyes as she inhales slowly through her nose, holding the cup a few inches from her lips. 

A glow shines blood red through the soft tissue of her throat and she opens her mouth, releasing a jet of flame over the top of the drink and igniting the surface of the fluid. Several groups of patrons give startled cries, while a few others cheer. You glance briefly around the clamoring crowd and spot Lumen manning the bar, instinctively grasping at the fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. She looks focused, but not necessarily having a bad time. You turn your attention back to Sirius, who's slurping the fire from the top of Nyx's drink.

"Hey I didn't say you could have that," He reaches over and pries the cup from Sirius' hand. 

"Pretty powerful stuff, right?" Sirius rubs at her throat and nudges you.

"Well..." You fumble. It's certainly impressive, but... "Isn't it a little excessive?" 

Her face falls a little. Nyx bumps you on the shoulder. 

"Can you imagine being a Niflheim soldier and coming up against a phalanx of Glaives breathing fire like a Cerberus?" He cracks his knuckles and grins. Libertus leans forward and chimes,

"She's not wrong, Nyx. It's excessive and you know it. You really need to take it easy on the magic, Hero." 

"You've heard the rumors, Libertus. We've got some crazy shit coming our way and some scars aren't going to stop me defending Lucis from whatever the Empire is cooking up." 

Scars? You glance worriedly at Sirius. Her expression is still a little hurt, but at this she glances away from you, picking up her beer and busying her mouth so she doesn't need to speak. You make a note to ask her about that later, and instead turn your head to Nyx and ask,

"What rumors?"

At this, Luche leans forward.

"You haven't heard? Verstael Besithia took his whole god complex a little too far this time."

"Who's...what? What's happening?" You suddenly feel the temperature dropping. 

"Besithia is an Imperial military scientist," Libertus says, expression narrowing. "He's been doing Gods-know-what kind of experiments on daemons for years, cooking up all sorts of horrible stuff. But there's a rumor going around that recently..." He blanches, somewhere between horror and rage. 

"He's infecting his workers," Luche cuts in. "He's somehow turning them into daemons and using them to power the MT troopers."

The color drains from your face. You glance between Libertus and Nyx, seeking confirmation that this...this heinous rumor could be true.

"So yeah, I think we need every advantage we can come up with, don't you, Libertus?" Nyx says sharply before downing the rest of his drink. 

"That's...that's horrifying...that's evil..." You say, the shock of it numbing you.

"And we're going to be on the front lines against the product of all that evil," Sirius says quietly in your other ear. You turn to her and see her donning an unusually focused, serious expression. “Whatever they’re up to, Niflheim isn’t pulling any punches. So stuff like this," She pulls one of her sleeves up and bares her forearm to you, and you gasp as your eyes fall to her marred skin. Rivulets and clusters of scar tissue star across her flesh like neurons, blooming from her palm and trailing up beyond where her cuff is pulled around her elbow, disappearing under the fabric and continuing across her body. "Stuff like this can't hold us back. We can't afford to push ourselves to any less than our limits."

"Sirius..." You're at a loss for words, beginning to tremble. 

"It's a calculated risk." She says flatly. "You don't have to go as hard as I am if you don't want to, and it sounds like you need to look good for somebody anyway." She tries to bring some levity back to the conversation, but you're too rattled to let the tension in the air break. Ignis doesn't have scarring like that...does he? Will you, if you keep wielding magic? 

"I...I didn't know it could hurt you..."

"It doesn't hurt that much," She shrugs, pulling her sleeve back down and reaching for her beer. "Imagine how much it must hurt the King, he's the one all this magic is stemming from, not to mention he powers the shield 24/7. I’d be an ass to complain about some scars.”

You're startled as a chair scrapes the floor on the other side of the table.

"I hope you assholes appreciate that I paid someone off to cover my post so I could come hang out." Crowe flops into the chair and mirrors Nyx's posture by resting her feet on the table. 

"Really?" Libertus chimes. "You must have been really missing me to do something like that."

"It's New Year's, don't read too much into it." Crowe fishes a poker chip from her pocket and flicks it in your direction. You catch it, though clumsily, still a little shaken from the conversation of moments past. "Go get yourself something nice, kiddo."

"W-What?"

"Go get a drink on me. It's a New Year's gift. I'm proud of you or whatever."

"It's not technically 'on you' if you sharked some poor bastard out of his free drink token." Nyx nudges her leg with his boot. "Who'd you pay off?"

"Axis. Said he wasn't 'up to go out, anyway.' My gain." She says with a shrug. She glances back at you, still frozen at the table, and makes a shooing motion with her hands. "Before I change my mind."

"Yeah...thanks, Crowe."

"Sure. Don't forget you still owe me new boots, though."

You manage to surface a little from the cold tension in your gut and let out a snicker. 

"I won't forget." You stand, trying to make eye contact with Sirius as you do so, but like nothing had happened, like she hadn't just confessed to you her self-destructive convictions, shown you the damage of them, she's happily chatting away once more with the group. You sigh and shake your head, deciding to put all this on the back burner for a little while and try and enjoy the rest of the night. It had started so well, too. You flush a little remembering the brief but meaningful intimacies you'd shared with Ignis. Should you talk about him? It's not uncalled for to talk about your boyfriend to your friends at a New Year's hang out...but, you wonder if that's good table conversation to follow what Sirius had said. 

"Nice to see you again, baby." Lumen chirps as you approach the bar, pulling you from your thoughts. 

"Hi Lumen. I'm sorry about Sirius and the whole—” You bashfully mimic with your hands the plume of fire she'd breathed. Lumen shakes off your concerns. 

"This wouldn't be a hot spot for Glaives if stuff didn't catch fire every now and again. What can I get for you, baby?"

You ask for a beer and lean against the counter as she fills a tall glass from the tap. As you wait, you find yourself glancing down at your forearms and hesitantly pulling up the cuff of your sleeve to examine your wrist. You didn't know magic could inflict physical damage like that. Why weren't you told? Is it unusual? Is it not supposed to happen? When would it start to mar your body? Is there a way to stop it? Will it kill you eventually?

"Wanna open a tab, hon?" Lumen's voice once again shakes you from your reverie as she sets your beer down in front of you on the bar. You swallow, a toxic kind of determination taking hold of you as you push your frightened, serious thoughts away.

"Yeah, keep 'em coming. It's New Year's."

 

As midnight approaches, Lumen turns the screens of the TVs around the bar to a countdown channel. You laugh easily with your friends, knocking back a celebratory shot with the group of them. You slam down the shot glass next to several other empty ones, rattling the glasses on the table top and causing some full drinks to slosh a little onto the table. You're a little far gone. You giggle as you loop your arms around Sirius' waist.

"You must really love this guy to get this drunk, rookie." Nyx chortles. Wait. When did you mention Ignis? How much have you said? But your brief moment of clarity is whisked from you as Luche stands, glass in the air.

"To peace!"

Glasses are raised around the bar in both Glaive and non-Glaive hands as nearly all the patrons repeat the cheer, and you join them, grateful for the atmosphere of safety here. You're not even sure the glass you've just emptied actually belongs to you.

"That was mine," Crowe says. Oh. Guess it wasn't yours. 

"Oh Six fuck it, Crowe, I'm sorry, I'll go buy you anoth—”

As you move to stand you tip dangerously and need to clutch onto the table to keep from falling over. Crowe grabs your upper arm and steadies you.

"Whoah, okay. No, you don't need to buy me another, I can go myself. Just...aim away from my shoes, kiddo. I don't need you going and ruining two pairs of footwear."

"I'm sorry I ruined your boots."

"Stop apologizing."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

Crowe rolls her eyes. 

"Nyx, someone here has had too much. Can you watch her while I go get another drink? She might try to follow me and I'm no good at babysitting drunks." 

Nyx gives you a once over and chuckles, reaching out and putting a hand on your other forearm.

"Yeah, I got her. Sit down, kiddo. You're okay.” You let Nyx lower you back into your chair and distantly hear Crowe make her way toward the bar. "We still have ten minutes until the countdown, you gonna make it?” Nyx asks you as you wobble in your chair. 

"I wanna stay." 

“Okay, kid.” There’s a particular softness in his tone and he ruffles your hair again. “But no more drinks. You look one away from hurling.”

“I’m not going to hurl…I think…I feel pretty good.” You clutch the edge of the table and maneuver your whole body to face Nyx. Just turning your head alone makes you dizzy. “I just wanted to have a good time. Am I ruining things? Crowe seems mad at me…”

“Don’t mind Crowe,” Libertus leans forward, easily within earshot of your drunken rambling. “She acts like she doesn’t care, but I know she likes you. You’re the first person I’ve ever seen her give one of her drink tokens to.”

“She’s given me two,” You mumble. Libertus laughs.

“Yeah, you’re definitely in her will, then. And I’ve had to take care of a drunk Crowe in the past and she’s way worse than you are when she overdoes it.”

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you fumble for it, trying three times to enter your password before unlocking it successfully. You squint at the bright, blurry screen and see that…Ignis has sent you a video? You fish your headphones from your bag and plug them in to hear the video properly and press play.

To your surprise, you see Prince Noctis’ face. You can’t tell where he is exactly, but it looks like he’s at a street fair of some kind.

_“Hey, I don’t know how long I have before Ignis realizes I swiped his phone.”_ He begins. _“He asked me not to talk about you to the other guys, for now. Something about ‘not wanting to scare you off,’_ ” He sniggers at this. _“So I’ll keep it under wraps until you want to like, make yourself known or whatever. But if your thing that you’re at ends early, you’re still totally invited to come join us.”_

There’s a clattering and you hear Ignis from off-screen yell, _“Noct, I sincerely hope my suspicions are incorrect.”_ Noctis jumps and hurriedly says into the camera, _“Oh shit, gotta go!”_

He summons a sword in a flash of pixels and warps away, the phone dropping from the air where his hand used to be and distorting the picture in a dizzying tumble. The video ends here. Drunkenly, you try and sift through your thoughts as you clumsily put your headphones back into your bag.

Ignis has asked Prince Noctis not to mention you to the rest of the retinue. Is it for your benefit? For his? Noctis also seems to sincerely want you to join his party, and even if the thought of being in direct proximity to the whole royal retinue didn’t make you really nervous, you’re a fucking shameful mess right now. You feel tears begin to well up. You can’t let Ignis see you like this.

Your phone again buzzes and you roughly wipe at your eyes, trying to focus on the screen.

 

_“Though I don’t appreciate the method Noct used to tell you, you are indeed welcome to join us if that’s what you want. Also, I asked him not to pry about you in front of the rest of the retinue because, well, to be frank I’m not ready for the lines of questioning from ALL of them at once, at least without you here as reinforcement.”_

 

Oh Gods. Don’t drunk text him. Don’t drunk text him. Just send a heart or something. Don’t drunk text him. Maybe you can ask Sirius to text for you—no that’s a stupid idea, what if—

“That your guy?” You hear Nyx ask in your ear, leaning over your shoulder. You jump and hurriedly shove your phone into your bag. Nyx laughs and sits straight again. “Alright, sorry, sorry. Just curious. The countdown’s gonna start, though. Are you feeling up to it?” You glance up to the TV nearest to your table and see the timer dip below three minutes to midnight. You rub your eyes and nod. Nyx pats you on the head. “Atta girl.”

Crowe joins the table again, clutching two beers.

“We good on the water works, kiddo?”

“Crowe don’t make her upset, she’s worried you’re mad at her.” Nyx chides. Croweblinks and exhales loudly. She takes a gulp from one of her steins before leveling her gaze to your bleary one.

“I’m sorry. I’m not mad.” She then downs the rest of the first drink, discarding the now-empty glass and readying the second one to follow suit.

“Wow. See? I told you she liked you.” Libertus nudges you with his fist and you can’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Here, use this for the countdown,” Sirius chimes at your side, and she pushes a glass of water into your hands. “You’ll feel left out if you’ve got _nothing_ to drink at midnight.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Sirius.” You rest your spinning head on her shoulder and she grins. “I got you, Senpai.”

The patrons of the bar begin counting from twenty. You stand as best you can and lift your glass with the rest of the bar, holding onto Sirius with Nyx steadying you by the shoulder as you welcome the new year with a cheer. Across the bar, drinks are downed, hugs are given, a few non-Glaive patrons kiss. You hug Sirius to you and Nyx ruffles your hair. You hear outside a crescendo of fireworks, the peak of a spectacle that’s been ongoing for hours since sundown.

“Happy New Year, jerks.” Crowe downs her second beer and pushes her chair in.

“You’re going already?” Luche asks, brow raised.

“It’s my bedtime.” She gives Luche a pointed look and reaches her forearm out for you to bump with yours. “I’ll see you on the field, kiddo.”

“Happy New Year, Crowe,” You say. She nods and waves goodbye to tables full of Glaives as she weaves her way to the door.

“Hey, lush,” You blink and shift your gaze up to Nyx. “How you getting home?”

“I, uh…I wasn’t…planning on drinking this much,” You admit ashamedly. Nyx smirks, knowingly.

“We’ve all been there. Keep drinking your water. Where do you live? I’ll ride the train with you there.”

“You don’t have t—” You wobble and fall against Sirius, who laughs and pushes you upright.

“Don’t be proud, Senpai. You’re a sloppy drunk. Let Nyx go with you.”

You shake your head a little, which is a mistake.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Finish that water.” Sirius sits you down and you can’t help but follow her instructions.

 

~

 

You clutch Nyx as he half-carries you to the train station. Around you there are still scattered fireworks bursting through the city, but they have declined sharply in frequency since the first few minutes past midnight.

“You’re going to be okay with the motion?” He asks. You screw up your face.

“Maybe.”

“Well, I guess we’re going to find out,” He says as he swipes his card twice through the turnstile and leads you to the train you had indicated would take you home. He sits you down in an empty row and lets you lean against him as the train starts moving. You try and use him as an anchor for your brain so you don’t get motion sick.

“Thanks for coming with me, Nyx, but I probably could have gotten home by myself. Why are you going out of your way?” You mumble.

“Because that’s what heroes do.” He says readily, shrugging. You giggle. Nyx pauses, drawing a slow breath and ruffling your hair again. “I don’t know. I know it doesn’t really amount to much but…Libertus has Crowe to look after, and I…I had a little sister once. I couldn’t save her. I might have a soft spot. You’re a pretty helpless drunk so…” He smiles, a little pained.

“A soft spot for me and not Sirius, though?” You say, shifting to look up at him.

“She seem helpless to you?” He chuckles. “Nah, she’s tough. Scary, even. Crowe’s lucky she hasn’t been paired up with her yet, cuz Crowe would get a mean dose of reality that she’s not the baddest bitch on the block anymore.”

Your brows furrow. Even with your bleary vision, at this proximity you can see the thin spiderwebbing of scar tissue peeking from just under his collar. You sit up straight and face Nyx as evenly as you can.

“Don’t make her hurt herself, Nyx.” You say, as seriously as you can muster. Nyx is still for a beat, concern crossing his features.

“Kid, she might admire me but trust me when I tell you, I warned her about how stupid what I do is.” He says, brows peaked. He pulls his collar down and shows you the extent of the blooming scars across his collarbones. “I wouldn’t train a recruit to do this to themselves. I just teach her what I do to survive, and she’s figuring out on her own how to meet the extremes I take it to. Taking it to this extent…I admit, it makes me happy. It gives me hope. She probably feels the same way.

“Tonight, with the fire breathing, well…I did encourage her to show off, and I’m a jackass for that. But she’s been talking about wanting to show her stuff to you. She loves you a lot; I think your approval means a lot to her.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I can’tstop her overdoing it. Maybe you can try to talk some sense into her, but I doubt it will work. She’s not afraid of the consequences.”

“Why does this happen?” You whisper, gesturing to his scars. “Why does the magic do this to us? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“To be honest kiddo, I don’t know why.” Nyx shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “All I do know is that most of the Glaives seem fine. Probably nobody told you because it’s not a concern for most of us. It’s just idiots like me and forces to be reckoned with like Sirius who overuse it that get a little fucked up.”

Your station is softly announced over the speakers and the train begins to slow beneath you. Your phone buzzes and you quickly dig it from your bag before the train finishes pulling into the station. You see a few messages, some from nearly half an hour ago. You scroll through them as the train continues to slow.

 

_“Happy New Year, my dear.”_

_“Let me know should you need a ride home.”_

_“It seems Noct wants to call it a night. We’ll have to come up with some other plan to introduce you properly.”_

 

You fumble with your phone, still not really in good enough condition to text him back coherently, but you don’t want to keep him waiting any longer on a reply. You begin to type when Nyx nudges you.

“Hey, isn’t this your stop?”

“Wha—oh, yeah, yeah.” You shove your phone into your bag and stand, but quickly the train spins around you and you sit down again. Nyx chuckles and loops an arm under yours, lifting you from the seat.

“Come on rookie. Let’s get off the train before you miss your stop.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Why’d you drink so much, kiddo?” He asks as he leads you off the train and onto the street near your home.

“…Um. Somewhere between…being really happy and being really afraid.”

“Of what?”

“Well…happy about…well actually, how much did I tell you? About my boyfriend?”

Nyx laughs in earnest and turns down a street you indicate.

“Most of it was incoherent, but I could tell you’re really happy about it. If he breaks your heart I’ll have to show him how the Kingsglaive settles things.”

“I don’t think he’ll break my heart.” You chuckle.

“That’s good. And what are you scared about?”

You chew your lip as you spot your building around the corner.

“Well for one learning that magic can fuck you up, and for two, this thing with Besthis…Bethsith…”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’m drunk, you dick. That Imperial scientist.”

“Yeah,” Nyx’s face falls. “That’s some shit. But,” He deposits you on the stairs to your building. “If anyone can thwart some evil fuckers, it’s either going to be the Lucis Caelum line, or it’s going to be us.” He says, bumping a loose fist to the top of your head. “Try not to worry. Can you make it to your floor?”

“Yeah,” You nod blearily. “Thank you for walking me, Nyx. Happy New Year.”

“Alright. Happy New Year, rookie. Go get some sleep.”

“Nyx?” You say in the doorway. He turns back to you.

“Yeah?”

“…Keep an eye on Sirius.”

“She’s in good hands, kiddo. I’ll make sure she doesn’t die on my watch. You take tomorrow to get over the hangover that’s coming your way.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”


	16. Chapter 16

Upon waking, you’re relieved to find you don’t have a splitting headache. That relief quickly dissolves however as you reach for your phone to check the time and see a mess of garbled text you’d accidentally sent to Ignis upon shoving your unlocked phone into your purse the night before.

 

_“Happy New Year, my dear.”_

_“Let me know should you need a ride home.”_

_“It seems Noct wants to call it a night. We’ll have to come up with some other plan to introduce you properly.”_

 

_“Happy new year Ignis. Thats oka00 ,//g?/”_

_“Jjj h”_

 

_“Ah. I’ll message you in the morning, then.”_

 

There goes your plausible deniability that you were sloshed last night. What’s the point of a touchscreen if it responds to surfaces other than your fingers? You sigh and clutch your forehead, not trusting that a headache won’t appear. You should message Ignis and let him know you got home safely. Surely he’s figured out you overdid it last night and he might be worried. Before you have a chance, your phone vibrates on your pillow by your ear, like a good morning greeting. Appropriately enough, it seems like the text is just so.

 

_“Good morning, my dear. It would seem Noct wants to spend some extra time sleeping off yesterday's festivities, so I find myself suddenly available. Would you like breakfast?"_

 

Thank the Six it's still morning, you'd kill for bacon right now. After giving yourself a few minutes to make sure that no latent crippling hangover will manifest, you reply eagerly. 

 

 

You don't usually find yourself needing to drive anywhere as the train generally takes you wherever you need to go (not to mention you're never sure where there will be parking fees you'd rather avoid), but for occasions such as these, you do have a quick way of getting around the city near your home. You scale the concrete stairs down to the underground garage below your building and peel back the grey canvas cover on your motorcycle. It's not a top-of-the-line model, nor is it desirably vintage, but you pat the leather seat affectionately as you push your hair from your forehead and fit your helmet over your ears. There's a charm to owning something that's the same age as you are, something unassuming but reliable, with some scars and blemishes but sturdy inside and out. You kick on the engine and scale the ramp that leads to the garage door at street level, the loud, unrefined sounds from the motor echoing down the concrete tunnel. 

 

Ignis is at his apartment near the same block as Prince Noctis', too exhausted from the previous night's shenanigans to make the lengthy trek back to his Citadel home. You let the engine idle as you text Ignis on the street in front of his garage, letting him know you're here. After no more than a minute the garage door shifts and segments itself away and you lift your feet from the pavement, revving the engine once and letting the small burst of momentum carry you forward up the short driveway. Ignis is waiting for you inside, and you see surprise cross his features when the garage door lifts high enough for him to take in the spectacle approaching him. You grin under your visor and pull your bike into the garage next to his car. 

"Do you like what you see?" You flirt, killing the engine and pulling your helmet off. 

"I didn't take you for the motorcycle type, that's all." Ignis shrugs, but you see a blush dust his cheekbones. You cock a brow as you stand and set your helmet on the seat. 

"So that's a yes." 

“Perhaps.” He steps from his perch by the door and draws you into an embrace. He lightly cups your chin and places a chaste kiss on your lips, and even though you can’t taste him per se, the the flavor of his morning Ebony still permeates your senses. You commit to memory the feel of his lips pressed softly to yours, no teeth or tongue, just giving flesh and warm breath.

He stands and you bury your blushing face in the crook of his neck and sigh, taking in the coffee and ash and spice. The skin here is soft against your mouth and nose, despite being pulled taught over the cords in his neck and the muscle of his shoulders. Wanting him to fill more of your senses, you part your lips against his neck and dare to ghost your tongue over his skin. His flesh here tastes different than the sharp, warm flavor you know from his kisses, it’s more subtle and almost sweet. You feel his Adam's apple shift against your ear, and when he speaks there's a slight dusky roughness to his voice. 

"You'll cause me to lose my composure."

"You looking forward to it?" You murmur into his neck. He gives a short laugh through his nose.

"Certainly not standing in my garage." Seemingly reluctantly, he straightens from your embrace and gestures to the door leading to the stairs for the elevator. The blush on his cheekbones has darkened considerably. You giggle, a heady feverishness pulsing through you. 

"What's on the menu?" You ask as you let him lead you up the single flight of stairs and into the corridor toward the elevators. 

"Judging by the texts you sent me last night, I had imagined you would be craving something to alleviate a hangover, however you thankfully seem in perfect form, so," He shrugs. “what I’ve prepared will still be satisfying.” You flush, a little embarrassed. 

"Those texts were just from me leaving my phone unlocked in my bag, but…I did go pretty hard last night."

"I'm glad you had a good time," He gives you a sideways glance and seems to notice your chagrined blush. "Would I were able to join you in your festivities, but I had to keep a clear head to properly keep an eye on Noct."

“Did you have fun?”

Ignis thinks for a beat as the elevator carries the pair of you to the top floor.

“Yes, though from an outside perspective it might not have looked it.”

You snicker. Ignis has interlaced his fingers with yours as you walk. His gloves foregone and sleeves rolled to the elbow despite the freezing temperatures of the outside air, you find yourself glancing at his forearms, his wrists, turning over your intertwined hands to examine the flesh of his arms. Ignis glances down at your inspections.

“Looking for something?”

You start a little and chew your lip. This is doubtlessly a heavy line of questioning.

“Can it wait until after breakfast?”

Ignis’ features draw together slightly in concern, but with a small squeeze of your hand and a reassuring “Of course,” he leaves it be.

You find yourself seated at the small dining room table adjoined to the kitchen in his apartment. Though much smaller than his Citadel kitchen, this one too has an island outfitted with more than you personally would ever need, full cabinets lining the walls, and a stocked pantry hidden in the corner near the sink.

You shrug off your jacket and gloves and open the knot of your scarf in the warmth of his kitchen, understanding now why Ignis had come to get you from the garage in such light clothing. The small space is cozy enough to make you sleepy all over again, but Ignis is there at your side with a cup of warm coffee, prepared how he’s learned you like it from your dates to Enable. Your heart picks up time.

There’s a plate of bacon draining on a stack of paper towels on the counter and you nearly clap your hands together at the sight. Ignis washes his hands and sets to work on the rest of the meal, poaching eggs and fishing a loaf of wheat bread from a high shelf for toast. You watch him work contentedly.

“Is there anything I can do?” You pipe, “I love watching you cook, but if you need me to clean something or…” You trail off. Ignis gives you a warm smile from over the pan he’s tending.

“Since you ask, perhaps I could trouble you for something.”

“Sure, what?”

“Some closer supervision.” He angles a brow at you with a coy grin and shifts his hips to make room for you next to him. You flush and rise from your seat, crossing the kitchen and standing just behind him, looping your arms at his waist and peeking around his arm to watch him at work.

“Like this?”

“I feel more capable already. Do mind your arms near the stove.”

“Okay,” You squeeze his middle lightly and feel him exhale under your embrace. His body is a tangle of contradictions. You’ve witnessed first-hand over multiple sparring sessions the deceptive strength he possesses, enough to bury a lance half-way into a metal column and then some; the way his flesh resists fire and yields to singeing or searing only at close range; the unforgiving, almost cruel composition of his features focused in the heat of a battle. Ignis Scientia is a terrifying force, to say the least. But despite that, here he is: his abdomen pliant and relaxed in your grasp, his breathing even and expression soft as he makes you breakfast, his giving flesh imperfect only in that it’s speckled with moles—free from scarring. Your brows furrow.

 

You gratefully munch your last piece of bacon sitting next to Ignis at his table, having moved your chair from the opposite edge to lean into his side comfortably while you eat. Ignis occasionally rests his cheek in your hair between bites.

“This is perfect, thank you.” You say after a sip of coffee. Ignis hums into his own mug and loops his free arm around the back of your chair. Setting his coffee down he draws you closer to his side and asks,

“So why were you examining my arm?”

Your stomach falters a little. Oh yeah.

“…Can it wait just…just a little longer? I’m so happy right now…”

You sense Ignis’ expression shift to one of concern, but feel him nod into your hair.

“I won’t pry if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“It’s fine. I do, I will, but…Do you need help cleaning up?” You shift so you can look up at him. You do see traces of the worried expression he must have just cleared from his face, but he brushes the tip of his nose to yours and touches your foreheads together with an “I’ll accept the help, surely,” and through softly parted lips gives you a kiss, seeming to fully box away the concern for now.

 

You wipe your hands on a kitchen towel as Ignis closes the dishwasher with a click and starts a cycle. You hear him come up behind you as you loop the towel back over its hook and feel a tentative grip on your waist. You lift his hands from your hips and draw them around your middle, pulling him flush with you. You run your thumb over the flesh of his wrist, no cobwebbing or bursts of scarring blemishing the toned skin. You sigh.

“Can we sit down?”

“Where would you prefer?” He asks into your hair. Your eyes flit around the sparsely furnished space.

“It’s hard to sit close to you at the table.”

“The couch it is, then.” He slowly pulls his arms from your grasp and leads you gently to the couch, soft black leather enveloping you in a comforting scent. He crosses one ankle over his knee to face you, but you draw your legs up onto the couch in a childlike manner. You run your palm over the planes of his clear forearm, grasping his hand in your free one. You sigh and bring your gaze to his.

“Ignis, I really did have a fun night out last night, but…I learned some things that are making me really nervous.”

His brows peak and he shifts closer to you on the couch, gripping your hand just a little tighter.

“Go on,” He encourages.

“Well…some of my friends, some of the other Glaives, they’ve got these scars now…” You run your hand over his wrist. “And you don’t. I don’t. But the King’s magic is hurting them and it scares me. All anyone seems to know is that if you overuse the magic it’ll damage your body, but nobody can tell me why. I don’t understand it.”

“I see,” Ignis says softly, his eyes flickering thoughtfully. He’s silent for a moment. “The truth of the matter is that magic really is only meant to flow through the line of kings, a line chosen by Bahamut millennia ago, as he chose the Fleuret line to bear Oracles. Only one of the Lucis Caelum line can wield the full power of the Crystal, though even they do so at a cost. Our King can grant us the ability to wield fractions of that power, fractions so slight that even those not of noble birth would fear no harm, but it seems your friends are overusing it, and may be reaching the threshold of what their common-born bodies can endure without consequence.”

“Will it kill them?” Your eyes begin to well. “Will it kill you? Me?”

His eyes flutter to the hand clasping yours, and he covers the back of it with his free one as he pauses in thought.

“I don’t think so. The Crystal is a mysterious entity, but I think the damage the magic is causing to our bodies is inflicted at such slight depths that we have no early grave to fear, even your fellow Glaives whose bodies are beginning to show the wear of the burden of magic.”

You’ve never heard Ignis preface anything with ‘I think.’

“What makes you say that?”

“The only cases I’ve heard of the magic of the Crystal causing trauma or death is when one not of the Lucis Caelum line tries to wield the Ring of the Lucii. The Old Kings recognize the interloper, but even if deemed worthy and granted temporary access to the full power of the Crystal, the concentrated magic tears them apart. You or I are merely conduits: you for King Regis and I for Noct. Theirs is the burden; our souls are not being judged, and our bodies will scar with the use, but not die. It’s a small sacrifice in the greater battle.”

You pull Ignis’ arm around you and shift closer to him on the couch. He wraps his other arm around you and pulls you into an embrace, leaning your weight onto his chest. You rest your mouth at the crook of his neck again, grateful for the warmth and solidity of his body holding yours.

“Does it hurt _them_?”

“I couldn’t say.” Ignis says softly. “Noct has yet to bear the ring, and King Regis wouldn’t be in a position to confess something like that. The Crystal takes not from the body of the King, but from the soul. I can’t imagine what such a thing might feel like, but if it’s pain, I wouldn’t know it.”

You let out a shuddering breath against his neck, the tears kept at bay by his words, and though they fell short of comforting at least the worry in your guts has subsided. As your shivers dwindle, Ignis shifts and slips an arm under your knees, lifting you into his arms and leaning back to cradle you fully against his chest. You let out a startled sound at first and clutch a fistful of his shirt as you feel your body leave the soft leather of the couch, but as Ignis settles you flush with him and tenderly runs his fingers through your hair tucked under his chin, your trembling dissolves completely. Your shaky breaths even into a sigh against his chest, the steady pulse of his heart only picking up the pace slightly.

“I should have asked permission first,” Ignis murmurs, his tone somewhere between dusky and concerned.

“No, this is fine. I needed you like this,” Your fingers trace the cords in his throat down to his collarbones and you feel a flutter in his diaphragm beneath you. You touch the tiny skull pendant he always wears, nestled at the base of his throat. “I never took you for a jewelry guy,” You finally allow yourself a subject change.

“You would be correct. This is an exception.”

“Why?”

“It used to belong to Noct. We were made part of each others’ lives so young. This is the first thing he ever gifted to me,” You’re gently cradling the skull pendant and turning it over with your thumb, but at this your hand stills. Ignis senses your hesitation and reassuringly brings his hand up to touch your wrist. “He was five at the time. He meant for me to understand that this meant he trusted me, that I was his friend.” He grins at this and you can feel the breath from it across your forehead. “Every now and again I see him notice that I still wear it. He’s aloof these days but I can tell it still means much to him.”

You’re reminded of how you felt back on what you two now call your first date. You shift a little on his torso and push yourself up to look down at him, your forearms braced on his chest.

“Ignis,”

“Yes?” His unblinking green eyes have a quiet innocence when he’s below you, looking up.

“I don’t think I’ve said so out loud like this yet, but…thank you for making room for me in your life.”

“There has always been room for you in my life. I just hadn’t found you yet for you to fill your place.”

You’re helplessly swept off your feet. Your heart fills to bursting with a sensation you don’t have room to contain, so you try to share it with Ignis the only way that makes sense to you. You clutch him to you and cover his mouth with yours. Ignis easily obliges and tenderly pushes your hair from your face, resting his palm on your cheek as you kiss. You just want to touch him, to feel reassured by him physically as he has done for you emotionally. Your hand, still at the open base of his collar, slips under the fabric of his shirt and rubs over the muscle of his shoulder, trailing over his collarbone and onto as much of his chest you can reach through the narrow gap in his shirt.

The shuddering exhale and sudden grip in your hair draws a shocked sound from your throat into Ignis’ mouth. He balks at the vocalization, seeming to catch himself and hurriedly breaks the kiss, a little out of breath.

“Did that hurt? Forgive me, I—”

You push your mouth over his again, devouring the rest of his apology in a heated consent for him to continue. He melts under you and tentatively clutches at your waist with his free hand, pulling you harder into the kiss by the grasp he has on the back of your neck. Your hands flutter over him, trying to find a place to anchor yourself to him. You grab at the fabric of his shirt tucked neatly into his jeans and pull it free from the belt, wriggling your hand under the hem and clutching at the taught flesh of his hip, running your thumb over his subtle Apollo’s belt.

He sighs and hums into your mouth at your touch, and you feel him press his torso harder to yours, asking you to touch him more. You feverishly oblige. His sighs and quiet vocalizations of contentment are sweet and soothing, but you find the lust getting the better of you. You want to hear more. You dig your nails into the flesh of his abdomen and drag them down his torso.

The chemical shift that takes place inside of you at the cry you tear from Ignis’ throat nearly makes you dizzy. He arches into you and fists his hand into your hair, pulling your lips from his and staring you down from beneath you. You’re glad he did, he is a beautiful sight: his hair is slowly wilting, strands coming down to touch the rim of his glasses perched too low on his nose, leaving uncovered his piercing eyes and flushed and focused expression.

“Touch me,” You beg him. You see his pupils contract at your words.

“Where should I?” He gasps, voice breathy. You see an opportunity and lean down to his ear, taking his lobe in your teeth and murmuring,

“Where on me do you feel like learning about, Ignis?”

He swallows thickly and you sense him still under you. You press your teeth to his ear again, but you feel his hand push gently at you, asking for you to pause.

“I’m sorry…this is wonderful, _you’re_ wonderful, but…please be patient with me…” He confesses shakily.

“Do you want to stop?” You ask softly in his ear, your voice still thick with lust. Ignis is still for a few heavy breaths.

“…I understand our opportunities for…such intimacy are few and far between—”

“We can stop if you’re not ready, it’s okay.”

You feel him crumble beneath you, shades of shame in his shaky breaths.

“Would you think less of me?”

You shift and press your forehead to his, reassuringly.

“Of course not, Iggy.” You shift over him and move your weight from him, tucking your body instead under his arm between his torso and the back of the couch, resting your head on his shoulder and intwining your legs with his. You press a gentle kiss to his neck and he sighs breathlessly.

“I’m deeply sorry to disappoint.” He pushes his glasses up the sharp bridge of his nose with a quivering hand.

“It’s okay. I could use some more time, too.” You fold your arms over his chest and perch your chin on your forearms, eyeing him. “Tell me something.”

“Anything,”

“You wanna take a spin on my motorcycle with me?”

 

 

 

“I only have the one helmet, you should wear it.” You hold your helmet out to him by the mouth vent, fingers curled under the stiff protective plastic.

“No, certainly not. Your safety is the—”

“I’m not asking, Ignis.”

“…It will ruin my hair.” He gives a soft, truthful protest and you can’t help the outburst of laughter that escapes you.

“How about this then. Do you want to be recognized and find an article about you riding with a strange woman on her motorcycle?” You gesture to the helmet’s tinted visor. “Think of it as identity protection.”

“I’m far from ashamed to be seen with you,”

“Riding in the bitch seat?” You cock a brow at him. “You’re a car guy, I know you don’t ride, and I know vehicle proficiency is a matter of pride for guys, no matter how _refined_ they claim to be.”

Ignis purses his lips.

“I see you’ve been spending too much time with a tactician.”

“Guilty.” You push your helmet into his hands and straddle your motorcycle in his garage, kicking it into life. You feel him slide onto the seat behind you a moment later and you glance to double check he’d put the helmet on.

“You know,” You call over the sound of the bike as he wraps his arms around your waist, “I would have thought you’d be a safety-first kind of guy.”

“Clearly you’ve never styled your hair like mine every day.”

You laugh giddily and yell, “Hold on!” as you speed out of his garage, the door sliding closed behind you. Indeed you feel his grip at your middle reflexively tighten as you lean forward and rip through the residential area, doubtlessly disturbing any late sleepers, but you hardly care as you hear an exhilarated laugh bloom from behind you. You’re taken aback by the abandon of it and decide to make the ride to Prince Noctis’ apartment a little more thrilling.

You turn down a road you know has a sharp drop, and you accelerate over the crest of the hill, launching yourself and Ignis a few feet into the air, but the decline of the road beneath you prolongs the fall.

“Better stand in those stirrups!!” You all-but scream, peals of feverish laughter escaping both of you as you fall back to the road, letting your knees absorb the impact. Ignis is clutching you for dear life, his torso and all the rest of him pressed flush with you, and doubtlessly if it weren’t for the adrenaline he’d be brimming with arousal. The thought makes you grin wickedly as you head for another jump.

 

You pull up to an undeniably swanky apartment complex less than ten minutes later and flip out your kickstand, but when you try to lift yourself from the seat you find yourself held fast in place.

“Ignis?”

“Hmmm?” His pitch is higher than normal.

“You can let go now if you want.”

“I like holding you like this.” He hugs you tighter to him and you giggle, snaking a hand over his thigh next to you. He loosens his grip on your waist and you stand as he pulls your helmet off. He’s stowed his glasses elsewhere on his person, so you get a rare, unfiltered look at his features without them. You fill with adoration. He’s truly statuesque. His hair is a mess though. You hide your snicker behind your hand.

“I told you as much.”

“I like it like this,” You say, stepping closer and smoothing his hair forward over his forehead. He smiles softly. It makes him look younger. “It was ruined by our make-out sesh anyway.” You add.

“A sacrifice I’d gladly repeat.” He says, blushing just a little and standing from the seat of your bike. “Thank you. That was thrilling.”

“The make-out sesh?” You bat your eyes coyly.

“That as well.” He presses his forehead to yours and waits a breath like this before stealing a chaste kiss.

“You need me to come get you later?”

“It will likely be quite late before I’m finished bringing Noct up to speed on the recent meetings I’ve attended in his stead. It’s not far, I’ll walk back.”

“In this weather?”

“Thoughts of you will surely keep me warm.”

“You flirt.”

“Guilty.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be some slight delay in my updates for a little while, I'm taking on new responsibilities at work so I come home pretty tired, but I promise I'll do my best to keep updating as frequently as I can! Thank you for over 1500 hits! I am grateful and overjoyed so many of you like what I've written, and I hope you like this chapter as well!

In the month that follows, you and Ignis find scattered pockets of time to spend together, but admittedly it's an infrequent occasion where you can spend more than your lunch hour in each other's company. The rumors you'd heard from your fellow Glaives on New Year's Eve had trickled down from the top, and in fact Ignis had known about the horrifying whispers a few weeks before you did. During January though, the density of meetings he attends easily doubles, you suspect in the wake of Besithia's actions and a scramble to gain some kind of solid intel and form a defense strategy for...whatever it is that Besithia is creating. When it comes up in conversation between you and Ignis, his face falls into an expression that makes your heart sink.

"It's inhumanly twisted, what we suspect is happening behind Niflheim's closed doors," Ignis confesses to you at his kitchen counter one afternoon after managing to sync up a break with your lunch hour. "King Regis doesn't speak much on matters he examines with words beyond the professional, but, recently...something has changed in him."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't quite put words to it. It's not my place to question the King's motives or tactics, but it is...extremely concerning to me that he seems to be preparing for something, moving pieces into place as quickly and quietly as he can."

You shudder a little and he reaches over the counter and interlaces his fingers with yours. 

"We can defend the city," You muster. "I'm not afraid." 

"You are so admirable." Ignis smiles lovingly and presses a kiss to the back of your hand. "Do be safe, should the time come for you to uphold your oath."

"You know I will." 

 

Winter is finally hinting at relenting its grip on Insomnia, and the first day of February brings a few scattered signs of early spring. Your calendar in your phone chirps as you munch breakfast and you cock a brow, not recalling setting a reminder. As you unlock your phone and drag down the notification, you see it's an alert that a birthday is coming up for someone in your contacts. You click further and Ignis' contact info blips onto the screen with a little cake icon next to his name. You stop chewing for a beat. Well, this presents an interesting opportunity, you think as you resume your munching. 

Ignis doesn't seem the kind who would like surprise parties, and you doubt he'd take the day off for his birthday. What even would he like as a gift? Would his friends plan something for him? You shuffle in a drawer and pull out a pad of paper and a pen; it seems you've got some brainstorming to do. 

 

~

 

In an unusual moment of cautiousness amidst your fellow Glaives on the morning of February seventh, you had made sure the lock engaged on your locker after stowing away your bag with Ignis' gift in it. This isn’t something you can replace easily should it go missing. You don't even know if Ignis will have free time today to meet you, much less to go to a good gift-giving setting, but you had still slipped the modestly adorned, elegant box into your large bag on your shoulder before you had left for the Citadel.

You've advanced enough in your training to not need to be paired with a superior every day, instead free to practice on your own. You're standing in a labyrinthine stone structure, partly overgrown with moss. Several Glaives are spectating from an outcropping, some eating as they chat or watch. Across the structure, younger Glaives are learning to warp, and it's at this point in their training where they'll typically learn whether they're better suited to be a Mage. You hear one vomit a short distance away and grimace. There's one. 

Your fingers flex on the hilt of your blade and you exhale. You've never tried this before. As you arc your arm back, you aim for an open space in mid-air, letting your dagger fly from your hand with no intention to bury it in a surface. The sounds fade and distort for a breath as you follow your blade, and immediately you begin to fall as you materialize around your grasp on the handle. You arc your arm again, trying to hold your fear at bay, and throw your dagger once more, warping from mid-air to an outcropping where you roll to lose momentum from your fall. 

Despite having executed that double jump pretty well, the landing still disorients you and you lay on your back, gasping for a moment. 

"Not bad." A face appears over you. You scramble to your feet and stand at attention, heels together.

"Sir!" 

"At ease, Glaive." Drautos waves his hand and you relax. "I've got an assignment for you."

"...Sir?"

"It seems a Glaive in the recruitment unit under yours needs to be bumped up, she's moving fast and her training needs to keep up with her," Your stomach flutters a little, almost certain he's talking about Sirius. He continues, "So we need to make room. Was that your first attempt at long-range?"

"Yes, Sir." 

"Good. Looks like you could stand to be bumped up, too. She can take your spot and you can go get your post assignment."

Your heart picks up time and you have to hold back a disbelieving chuckle. 

"I'm being moved to patrol?"

"That's right, Glaive." 

"...But...that involves stopping unlawful conduct or people if I come across them."

"Yes, it does." 

"...Am I ready, Sir?"

"Are you?"

You chew your lip. 

"...Yes, I am, Sir."

"Good, because I wasn't going to ask twice." He turns and makes his way toward the edge of the outcropping, looking out over the other Glaives practicing in the structure. "Go find out where you're stationed, Glaive."

"Yes, Sir!" 

You make your way out of the training area, trying not to let the spring in your step bounce you off your balance. 

 

~

 

Truly, you have been blessed by the Astrals, you think as you circle the ground floor of the inner Citadel. Should Ignis make his way to or from his home, you'll likely bump into him at the elevators. You've never explored more of the ground floor of this ring of the Citadel, only ever heading straight to the elevators to visit Ignis. It's beautiful here, the tall windows letting light stream into the high arched walkways, Lucian emblems and the Royal crest draped or painted on various surfaces at even intervals. You sigh contentedly, your chest swelling with pride at your new rank and new responsibilities. 

"Lost your way?" A familiar voice says behind you. When you turn there's already a smile on your face. Ignis is grinning understatedly and he draws you into an embrace. 

"I got promoted!" You can't help but excitedly burst. "This is my post!"

"Well done," He beams, leaning down and lowering his voice, " and what luck. I was just craving a kiss from you.”

"That might look unprofessional, since I’m on patrol,” You giggle.

Ignis leans away from you and glances both directions down the hallway.

"Quickly, then, while there are no witnesses." He presses his lips to yours and you melt a little at his flirtation. 

“I guess I can make an exception for you—since you’re the birthday boy.”

You hadn’t mentioned to Ignis that you knew his birthday is this week, so a look of surprise flits over his expression at your words, but you watch him quickly surmise your knowledge and he grins bashfully.

“I’d want for no other gift than a second kiss.”

You smile flirtatiously and quickly press another soft kiss to his lips.

“Actually, do you know if your boy band is doing something with you tonight?" You chuckle as you lean away. "I have a real present for you but it's back in my locker."

A surprised but happy expression lights his face. "You didn't have to get me a gift. I'm sure I'll love it, though. Thank you." He adjusts his glasses, pushing them back from where your kiss had nudged them. "I've been given _mysterious instructions_  to meet Noct in a few hours out in the city. I've finished my duties until then. When are you off?"

“I'll be on my lunch break in an hour or so, but after that I need to report back." 

"Perfect," He smiles a little slyly. "Would you care to spend it helping me get ready for the night out? I've a closet full of clothes and no direction." 

You flush a little, knowing full well he has a solid taste in style and just likes a formal excuse to invite you up on your lunch hour. 

"I'll see what I can do.” You reply, tongue in your cheek. 

 

~

 

Half an hour before your lunch break was scheduled to start, you had texted Crowe and asked for a favor. You didn't get a sunny response, but she had acquiesced and you'd confided in her your locker code so she could bring your bag to your post and save you some precious minutes traversing the Citadel grounds that you could instead spend with Ignis. 

"You know, I can't really warp a whole lot to get places faster. I have to walk the whole way." She says as she hands your bag to you. 

"I swear this is a one-time thing," You say, shifting the bag onto your shoulder and feeling the weight of the gift box inside it. "Thank you, Crowe. Are the new boots okay?"

"They aren't melted so yeah, I guess as okay as can be expected.”

“…Are you ever going to let me forget about—”

“Probably not. Hey, I think I’m training _your_ _kohai_ today.” She says, jokingly. “Wasn’t she recruited later than you?”

You recall Nyx’s comment from New Year’s and decide not to let on that Crowe might have a hard time kicking Sirius’ ass. You’re curious how it’ll go.

“She got bumped up when I got moved to patrol. Looks like she’s following in my footsteps pretty closely if you’re training her.”

“That’s cute. Anyway, I need to head back, but tell your tactician I say hi.”

You flush. You don’t talk about Ignis to your comrades excessively, partly because you’re still a little shy when it comes to discussing the ins and outs of your relationship with the Right Hand to the Prince, and party because you worry that they might start treating you differently if you talk too much about it. You probably don’t have anything to stress about, but still, when it’s brought up you can’t help but chew your lip and blush.

“I will,” You manage. “Thanks again.”

“Mhm.” Crowe waves over her shoulder and you check the time, counting the seconds until you can ascend the floors to Ignis’ home. Excitedly you find that you’re officially off the clock and you hardly spare a few words to exchange with the Glaive rounding the corner to replace you as you nearly bound to the elevator.

 

Ignis answers the door only a moment after you knock. You’ve got a bright expression, but seeing his dressed-down look, just a pair of black slacks and an undershirt, his skull pendant a focal point across the width of his torso, your eyes darken. You see him note that you’re giving him a once-over and a blush dusts his exposed shoulders.

“I thought it best to leave the canvas blank.”

“It’s a good look.”

He smirks and sweeps you into an affectionate kiss, pulling the door closed behind you. You carefully set your bag aside without breaking from his embrace and briefly nuzzle your mouth and nose against the exposed dip in his chest between his pectorals. He presses his lips into your hair and you sense his breath shudder a little.

“You should wear less more often.” You hum into his chest. He chuckles a little breathlessly.

“As much as I enjoy holding you, we both have limited time.” He softly brushes your cheek and you reluctantly shift and disentangle yourself from him. He gives you a moment to slough off your Glaive coat in the warmth of his home, then takes your hand and gently leads you to his bedroom. For a moment your stomach flips. Of course his closet is in here, but you’ve never been in his bedroom before, and finding yourself suddenly in such a private space of his makes you swallow. The scent of him is more concentrated in here and it makes your breath hitch.

“Ignis, you’ve got better fashion sense than I do,” You pipe and chew your lip for a moment, suddenly bashful. “Do you really need me to help you pick an outfit for tonight?”

“No,” He says honestly with a shrug, then with a coy backwards glance he adds, “I want you to.”

Always the pretense of formality. The phrase ‘birthday suit’ flits through your mind and you snicker, but decide to leave it unspoken for now.

“Do you know where you’re going tonight?” You ask as you tentatively peer into his closet. Despite being a Spring, he seems to prefer winter colors. Neutrals and shades of violet and burgundy stripe along his neatly organized walk-in. You hear him take a seat on the bed behind you and the mattress hardly even groans. Your stomach flutters.

“Likely somewhere…‘fun’?”

You can’t help the snicker that escapes you.

“You could at least pretend you’ll enjoy yourself.” You paw through his shirts. Some of these you’d never expect him to wear, but then again you’ve seen him in nothing more than track pants and a v-neck. You glance back and eye him in his tank top and slacks, picturing on him the various fabrics that pass through your hands.

“I doubtlessly will. But I also have a reputation to uphold.” He gives you a sly smile and you flush, chuckling. You spot a white and grey pinstripe button-up and spend a little longer toying with the cuff of it than the other shirts you’ve considered.

“I know you prefer dark colors, being so close to the Royal family, and I know the house colors might be muddled because of the Imperial occupation…but…” You pull the white shirt from the rack and bashfully gesture to it. “…You _are_ Tenebraen, maybe white would look good on you too?”

Ignis gives you an understated smile and stands from the bed, crossing the room to you and taking the shirt from your grasp without hesitation and pulling it over his undershirt. He moves to button it up, but you hesitantly touch his wrist, slowing his movements. His sharp gaze flicks to yours.

“…Can I?”

You watch him swallow behind his soft smile.

“I did ask for your assistance.”

Your heart redoubles its speed as you pull the halves of his shirt closed and slowly fit each button through its respective slot, moving up along his torso to the base of his throat. It’s agonizing and somehow sexier than undoing them. You can’t help but run your tongue over your lip hungrily as you fasten the second to last button, leaving his collarbones exposed how you know he prefers. Ignis’ hands find your waist as you pause. You clutch his collar and a soft, feverish chuckle leaves your lips.

“I guess…lemme look for a belt?”

“Much obliged.” He murmurs. You reluctantly extricate yourself and begin to poke through the section of his closet lined with belts. Something catches your eye and you cock a brow, turning back to him.

"Suspenders?" You lift them from where they hang in his closet with his other belts. "Kind of outdated, don't you think?"

"I prefer the term 'vintage,'" He teases, "And don't you agree that if anyone could pull it off, it would be me?" His smugness isn't lost on you, but you can't argue with the truth of his rare verbalized self-flattery. Feeling competitive though, you gesture toward them. 

"Let's see." 

He grins and takes them from you and you cross your arms on your chest and lean against the wall, partly to add to your confident demeanor and partly because he needs to unbutton his slacks to tuck his shirt in and you don't trust your hands not to wander if you don't plant yourself a few feet away from him. Maybe if you had more time today, but your lunch hour is dwindling away and you don't want to feel rushed should things naturally escalate. As he pulls the straps over his shoulders, buttons fastened at his waist, you admittedly bite your lip around a sigh, somewhere between desire and defeat. 

"Alright, yeah, it's a look." 

Ignis cocks a brow and smirks, planting his hands at his hips, putting himself on satisfied display.

"Care for a closer inspection?"

You grin amusedly and push your weight from the wall, striding the few feet to him and looping your arms at his waist. Your fingers fiddle behind him with the single strap of the suspenders that runs along his spine. 

"You're being pretty...sassy today," You grin into his chest. 

"I'm in a good mood," He confesses cheekily, drawing you closer to him and resting his lips in your hair. You giggle. 

"Hey, before I need to report back," You gently pull away and scuttle to your bag by the door, pulling out the heavy, flat box adorned only with a ribbon. You hear him follow you from his bedroom and his expression softens upon seeing the gift in your hands. You fiddle with the ribbon, suddenly a little shy.

"So, um, to preface this, these aren't in perfect condition because they're actually mine. I haven't needed them since enlisting. I'm not trying to regift or whatever, but you seem like you want useful stuff, and..." 

You trail off. Ignis' brows raise, gently taking the box from your hands. 

"If the contents belong to you then it doesn't matter the condition," He says softly, his demeanor taking a sharp turn from the proudness of moments past upon hearing your pretense. "I'm honored that you would gift me something so personal." 

You exhale, a little flicker of relief audible in your breath. Ignis pulls the ribbon loose and lets it fall to the floor at his feet as he delicately lifts the lid to the box. 

You've never heard him gasp before. The sound fills your chest to bursting. He slowly, deftly lifts one of the twin daggers from the box, lips parted.

"They're called Avengers," You begin, rubbing the back of your neck. "They were made where I'm from, in Leide. I've got my Glaive blade now, but these are so beautiful and you use daggers in combat, and it's...a little hard to get new ones right now, with the Imperial blockades everywhere outside the wall. I hope it's okay they're a little scuffed and they probably need to be sharpened..."

"I love them," Ignis whispers, setting the box down on the table and lifting the second Avenger from the box. "These are perfect. I couldn't have thought of a better gift for myself." He runs his thumb along the flat of the blade, teasing the sharp edge, his gaze full of wonder and appreciation. You're not sure what to say, so you just content yourself with watching the delicate movements of his expression as he examines the daggers. He fits the handle of one to his palm and flips it experimentally, his eyes lighting up as he watches it twirl in the air. 

"The balance is perfect. I should seek Leide-made weapons more often." He inhales, seeming to focus for a moment, and you catch your breath as the Avenger gripped in his hand bursts into fractures of light and magic, stored away in his invisible arsenal in his soul. With a breath and a twirl of his hand, he summons it once more, testing the readiness of the blade pulled from the rift of magic. 

"I'm glad you like them," You say shyly as he repeats the process with the other dagger. It's strange and intimate to think of them as bonded like this to him now, stored in the same plane as his spirit. 

"Of course I do. They are a piece of you, after all." He murmurs, drawing you to his chest and pressing his forehead to yours. "Thank you, my dear. I'll carry them always." 

The kiss he presses to your lips is paired with a soft exhale, delicate and surrendering and full of meaning and emotion. Your throat tightens, suddenly a little overwhelmed by the volume of tenderness and adoration he's exhibiting. He sighs against your mouth.

"I confess, if it weren't Noct planning the evening…That is…” He exhales, somewhere between frustrated and resigned. "The Gods could command me to part from you now and I would readily defy them. But," He gives a well-meaning shrug, "My Prince wants to throw me a birthday party." He grins softly and you chuckle. 

"I wish I could come," You murmur. "I gotta report back soon, too.”

"I do owe you a proper introduction. If you're ready to meet the 'boy band,' we must try to set something in motion." He says through an amused grin. You giggle into his chest. 

"You'd play bass. They're always the smug ones."

"I resent that," He says playfully, drawing you into another kiss. You find your hands wandering up his torso and clutching to his suspenders at his chest. You feel him grin into your mouth.

"Are they growing on you?" He murmurs against your lips, the cheekiness returning to his tone. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud, all you give him as a response is dragging him back down to your mouth by his suspenders and pulling him against you, his torso flush with yours. A surprised, needy sound escapes his throat and he takes a stumbling step forward as you yank him against you, inadvertently causing your weights to knock back into the table behind you. 

Your hips jostling the items on the surface of the table and the sound of something falling over and onto the floor combined with suddenly finding yourself pinned between the edge of thehard table and Ignis might have caused you two as a slightly younger couple to balk and fumble. Not now, though. Now your bodies causing the sudden disruptment of Ignis' impeccable table settings and the rough way your hips crash together as you try to regain your footing makes something much hotter and more desperate flare all at once between the two of you. 

You clutch onto Ignis and grab at his clothes, wishing you could grip his bare flesh. You needfully grasp at his hips and pull him harder against you and a strangled growl escapes him. He pushes his fingers into your hair and grips at your scalp, holding you fast in place as he nips at your lower lip. A whine fizzles in your throat, your tongue chasing more of his kiss as he bites at your lip, flicking over his mouth. He devours your request for more in a heated acquiescence.  

You can’t tug him any closer to you, every inch of your torsos flush with each other, but you’re still greedily pulling him against you, trying to find some crevice or space devoid of Ignis he can fill. He pushes you harder against the table and your heart spikes, a moan vibrating in your throat. You reach behind you and brace your palms flat against the table top, lifting your body up and back until you’re sitting on the edge of the table. You circle your calves around Ignis and yank him forward into you, clutching him to you between your thighs and ensnaring him with all your limbs.

Startled, he braces his palms on the table as you pull him forward, but quickly his surprise dissolves into something else as he clutches at your hips, now flushed intimately with his, your weight resting on the polished table top. His kiss becomes imprecise, punctuated at uneven intervals with gasps and soft growls. You grab at his collar and pull your mouth away from his to speak,

“Ignis, please,” You whisper, “I want you to touch me,”

“Guide me,” He begs, his voice rough and thick with lust. “Please, I want to, but I don’t…I’ve never…”

Distantly you recall his offhanded comment that he’s never had a girlfriend and the fog of desire clouding your brain lifts just a little. You guess it would make sense, then. He’s also so adept at almost every other area in his life that being newly intimate with you might be cause for particular anxiousness. He’s swallowing his pride and asking for direction, but you sense there’s an acute vulnerability for him in doing so. You soften your grip on him and give him a reassuring smile, cupping his cheek in your palm. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut behind askew glasses and brows peaking. The sight of it makes your heart clench.

“You’re probably a natural,” You hum, trying to help him shake his nerves. He chuckles tensely.

“I’m flattered, but…I’ve…I’ve…” He struggles for the words, a rarity. “I’ve never felt that my lack of…experience was cause for a detriment to my pride until now. I enjoy impressing you,” He confesses with a nervous smile, “And I wager I won’t.”

You gently lift his crooked glasses from his face and set them carefully aside on the table. You adore his features even under the frames, but without them he’s statuesquely beautiful. You coyly glance at him through your lashes, willing your voice to be as seductive as you can muster.

“I won't mind helping you practice.”

He melts in your embrace and presses his forehead to yours, his grip on your hips reinvigorated. You’re about to kiss him again when he murmurs something you would never expect:

“I don’t deserve you,”

Your heart stutters, but before you can protest or question his mouth is on yours again, and you surrender to the reignited lust in your blood and clutch at his hair, his jaw, his cheek. You pry one of his hands from your hip and slide it under the hem of your shirt, squeezing your hand over his and encouraging him to grip onto the flesh of your waist. He eagerly complies, and his other hand quickly follows suit, running his thumbs over the skin pulled taught over your floating ribs.

You shift your mouth away from his and nose his chin up, baring his throat to you. You sense his hesitance as you break the kiss, but as you press your teeth into the corded muscle of his neck, a sinful sound resonates in Ignis’ throat, vibrating against your mouth. He digs his nails into your sides, perhaps inadvertently, but you’re only spurred by the sensation and you pull the flesh into your mouth, hardly caring if his Prince sees the bruise you leave.

Ignis grips your ribs and drags you closer, to the point where you’re teetering on the edge of the table and need to clutch him to not fall forward. You seem to be right where he wants you though, because before you realize what’s happening he slips his arms under your thighs and lifts you from the table. You yelp, feeling for a moment like you’re falling, but Ignis keeps his arms steady and lets you slide through his grasp until you’re flush against his torso, his arms supporting you and hands gripped into your backside. You flush and laugh a little feverishly, part exhilaration, part nerves, part lust, looping your arms around his shoulders and locking your ankles around his waist. He lifts a hand from under you and tangles it in your hair, dragging your face down to his for an uncoordinated kiss. You thrill a little (as you always do) at the deceptive amount of sheer strength he possesses to hold you up with only one arm.

A wicked idea sparks in your mind and you say a quick prayer that the strength in your legs will be enough to hold you to him. You squeeze his waist and lock your legs harder around him and he groans into your mouth under the pressure, needing to concentrate to draw breath into his lungs. Just a moment, Iggy, you think as you loose the grip around his neck and lean back, holding yourself to his body without your arms. You see a curious expression cross his flushed features, and after giving him a devilish grin, you hook your fingertips under the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, discarding it hurriedly to the floor by his feet.

Rather than looping your arms around his neck and dragging him into another kiss, you let him take in the new expanse of skin along your chest and stomach from an inescapably intimate distance. You feel the grip he has on your thigh tighten and his eyes flutter around, caught between hesitation and need. You grasp at his free hand and bring it to the soft flesh of your throat just under your jaw, and you can feel your own pulse push through your skin against his warm palm. It’s a surrender and an invitation as you guide his hand, trailing it down to the flat stretch of skin over your sternum, just over your heart and between your breasts cupped in your bra. You shift in his grasp and lean closer, sitting as straight as you can and pushing your chest toward his mouth.

“Kiss me here,” You say, half command, half plea, pressing your fingertips down on the back of his hand pressed over your heart. “Please,”

You lift your guiding hand away from his and cup his jaw in your palm, softly pulling his face toward your chest. You hear him swallow and exhale before he complies, steadily moving his hand from where you had placed it over your heart and repositioning it around your other thigh before delicately pressing his lips to your skin.

Surely he can taste your heart redouble its speed. You lean your head back and loop your arms loosely at his shoulders, exhaling at the sensation of his breath on your breasts and his hair brushing your collarbones and throat. Your hand wanders to the back of his head and you smooth your fingers through his hair before gently holding him to you. He sighs under your touch and experimentally ghosts his tongue over your flesh. You squirm in his arms and you feel with intimate detail the way his lips move as he grins onto your heart.

His sweet ministrations ebb into frustrating teasings as he gets bolder, running his tongue experimentally up the length of your sternum to the cleft in your collarbones. You moan and arch against his mouth, fisting your fingers into his hair and angling his head so you can roughly push your neck against his mouth.

“T-Teeth…” You stutter, reduced to abstract guidance. Ignis clutches you to him and presses his mouth into the crook of your neck, biting agonizingly softly. You can’t help the frustrated snarl in your voice as you crush him to you with your legs and moan,

“I’ll stop you if it hurts—Ignis, please…”

A growl resonates through his throat and he sinks his teeth into you, clawing at your thighs. What starts as a whine gathers volume and a shameful moan slides from your lips as you feel Ignis draw your flesh into his mouth and suck a bruise into life. The sound seems to make him buckle under you and a quiet moan of his own vibrates against the tender skin under his lips. He pulls his mouth from the crook of your neck with a wet, fleshy sound and breathlessly seems like he’s about to ask you something when a chime sounds from your bag across the room.

It’s the alarm you’ve set for yourself on work days to let you know it’s time to head back from lunch.

“Oh…oh yeah…” You stutter, still out of breath and unable to keep the frustration out of your voice. “I…Astrals damn it, I need to go back to my post.”

You’ve never been more filled with hatred for your phone than this moment. Ignis tries to set you down, but you cling to him stubbornly. He gives a resigned chuckle. 

"It wouldn't do for you to return late on the first day at your new position." He says, fighting through his gasping breaths. 

"I forgot that time is a thing," You grumble into his neck. 

"As did I, which speaks to just how preferable a distraction you are," 

You allow yourself a quiet, reluctant laugh and loosen your grip on him, sliding your legs from his torso and reaching to the floor with your toes. Before you gain your footing though,you brush against what’s undeniably a swollen bulge under his slacks. Ignis suddenly closes his arms around your middle and holds you flush against him, your feet dangling an inch above the floor. You yelp at the abrupt way you're denied your footing and wiggle instinctually in his grip for a beat. Flustered, you meet his eyes meaning to question him only to have the words dissolve away before you can speak. His gaze is mischievous, but there's a piercing hunger in it that you've never seen before. Without the filter of his lenses, his eyes are vibrant and deep and you can read the lust in them like words printed on a page. The clear intensity of it makes you shudder. He parts his lips to speak and his voice is dusky and resonant. 

"I will ensure that no such interruptions take place the next time we find ourselves entertaining one another as enjoyably as this,"

The way his voice envelops the cadence of his words is enough to make you groan needfully, let alone the content of his promise. He's ensnared you with no footing, his body your only anchor and his voice low in your ears, the proximity of the sight and scent of him...your every sense is at the mercy of his seduction. You're helpless to do anything but nod. A wicked grin flickers across his features and he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. He sets you on your feet and you find yourself shamefully chasing after his mouth with your own, groaning frustratedly at the simple kiss after he stoked a flare of such intense desire inside you. 

"Don't leave me wanting more..." You all-but whine. Ignis smiles understatedly and draws your hand to his mouth for a kiss, a cheeky glint in his eyes. You huff at the restraint he's exhibiting, doubtless meant only to tease you further. 

"...You ass." You pout. He laughs genuinely. 

"I will endeavor to repair your image of me next we meet," He smirks and reaches for your shirt. You take it from him reluctantly. "Thank you for your assistance choosing my look for the night, my dear."

"I'm mad you tricked me into putting clothes _on_ you rather than taking them off.” You huff, pulling on your own clothing, discarded around his living room.

"A man needs his mysteries." He shrugs, then a softness crosses his features. "And thank you immensely for the gift. I will use the daggers well."

At this you finally relent your attitude and exhale, looping your arms around Ignis' waist and burying your face in his chest. He sighs into your hair. 

"I really should get going."

"Shall I walk you down?"

You chew your lip.

"...I'd probably try to seduce you in the elevator."

"A dilemma to be sure, but not an unwelcome one."

You giggle a little bashfully into his shirt. He brushes his hand across your cheek, asking you to look up at him. He draws you into a soft kiss when you do. You see the bruise you left gaining vibrance on the toned skin of his throat and shuffle your feet, tentatively touching your fingertips to the reddened mark.

“Sorry about this. Guess you’ll have to cover that up.”

“Whatever for?” He blinks, smirking. You’re caught quite off-guard.

“For, you know… Isn’t it a presentability thing?”

“Perhaps for a work engagement, surely. But tonight it’s my birthday. To hell with what looks might come my way for displaying proof of how well you treat me.”

“Six, Ignis.” Your want for him flares again at his words. “Still, you’ll have some explaining to do to your boy band.”

“What’s there to explain?” He shrugs mischievously, taking your hands in his. “This indicates you gave me as pleasant a birthday gift as any man should hope for.”

You shudder, summoning the bolder you from moments ago.

“I can think of a better one. It’ll have to come late, though.”

“Does it involve a birthday suit?”

“…Gods damn it, you beat me to it.”

He laughs fully and presses his forehead to yours, the hunger flickering briefly in his voice once again as he murmurs,

“You dressed me so well for this evening, but I confess I eagerly anticipate wearing that for you instead.”

You literally salivate, and nearly melt to the floor at his feet.

“Ramuh save my soul, Ignis. How did you learn to be so sexy?”

“Oh, perhaps I picked up some things from you,” He grins slyly and presses a kiss to your mouth, reluctantly pulling back before it has the chance to turn heated again. You brush the tip of your nose to his affectionately.

"Happy birthday, Iggy. Have fun tonight."

"Thank you, my dear. I certainly will. Don't tell anyone, though. I've got my reputation to think of." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure y'all already know the outfit ya put Iggy in, I'm a secret sucker for suspenders. Also, Ignis' Avenger daggers actually are found in Leide! Bless the Final Fantasy wiki for being so detailed and making it easier to keep this fic flush with the canon of the game, and bless YOU for dealing with my incessant teasing <3


	18. Chapter 18

Blessedly, your new post patrolling the ground floor of the inner Citadel allows for somefairly frequent short exchanges and quick stolen kisses with Ignis in a month otherwise without time spent together. 

Mere days after Ignis' birthday, news reached Insomnia that all of the workers in an Imperial Magitek production facility had transformed into daemons. The thought of the seemingly contagious affliction spreading from the building and into neighboring regions was well within reasonable, and it was the fear that it was more than that, that it was plausible, possible, likely even, that made both yours and Ignis' schedules again redouble. 

"We're preparing for another attack, aren't we? A devastating one..." You murmur sadly to him one day as your paths cross on his way to the Prince's apartment. Ignis' expression becomes somber.

"I wager so. The thought of weaponized daemonic miasma is a terrible one, and though Insomnia is safe by the King's magic, the rest of Lucis risks being at the mercy of Niflheim's worst." He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours. "King Regis wants only to secure the safety of his people, all his people, but ours is the duty to prepare to enact his will." 

“I know. But I miss you."

"And I, you. We will find a day to ourselves soon, I'm sure." 

 

Despite having not had a moment to train with Ignis in recent weeks (but likely thanks to his past tutelage, regardlessly) you’re among the top of your recruitment wave now, being the only one of your age moved to patrol. Your days are divided into thirds now, with higher level elemental and warp practice and your patrols taking up your mornings and afternoons. Your physical training—the endurance running and weightlifting—has been modified. Now, twice a week, you forego your post and devote your whole day to rescue training, putting your physical strength and endurance to the test. You work in teams of two or three other Glaives, running drills on how to protect and save lives in the midst of various disasters. It's not lost on you that only now has your training shifted focus to this. It makes you nervous. 

For this kind of training, you need a certain terrain, and you're actually transported a short distance outside the physical wall around Insomnia, but still within the magical barrier. The airships you take are quicker than you would have expected, the distance traversed from the Citadel in only thirty minutes or so. Twice a week, the city is swept away from under you as you're caravanned to a derelict district of Insomnia to train. 

The buildings here are in various stages of decay, some having crumbled completely away. Younger Glaives, some who have barely begun their training, have been recruited to your drills and brought along in packs of twenty or thirty, standing in for citizens in need of rescue. Some are instructed to act injured in various ways, others are told to deliberately hide, others still to wander the town. 

Drautos accompanies all of you on these missions, supervising from a high perch and occasionally intentionally causing part of a structure to collapse, the lightning from his palm direct and severe. You hear stones begin to shift and crumble and you scan the horizon hurriedly to locate the source. Adrenaline fills your guts as you spot a hapless new recruit in the street, the falling debris on a collision course with him. 

"Head's up!" 

You hurtle out of a warp toward the Glaive, readying your shield. You knock into him and tumble with him a few feet, and you hear the eerie sound of objects bouncing off your shield, somewhere between an electric fizzle and an underwater impact. As the falling of wood and rock subsides and you dismiss your shield, the Glaive shakily asks,

"What happened?" 

"Eyes up, buddy, that would have knocked you out. Are you hurt?" 

“No,” His eyes dart around and he gestures to the way he came. “But there’s a group I’m with, they’re trapped, or, you know,” He lifts his hands into shaky air quotes. You nod and indicate for him to lead the way, touching your communicator nestled into your ear.

“Who’s nearby? I need some muscle to help dig some people out of the wreckage.”

“Libertus, you up for some excavating?” You hear a voice over the shared link and you grin a little, recognizing Nyx’s tone. There’s a muffled response, then you hear an affirmative from Libertus through his own comm.

“What quadrant? We’re on our way.”

 

The new recruit leads you through four or five blocks of the ruined town; occasionally you need to shoo away a stray dog pacing through the streets. He leads you to what looks like a corner store, but the front entrance has been blockaded with rubble, shards of metal and glass sticking up at odd angles from the smashed storefront.

“How many are in there, rookie?” Nyx asks. You draw breath to answer that you don’t know, but the young Glaive you’re with speaks first. You grin a little. Guess you’re not the rookie anymore.

“Seven, some can walk but others can’t.”

“Sounds good to me. On me, kiddo. Let’s blast this from the side. Libertus? You’re the loudest.” Nyx nudges his shoulder and he chuckles.

“Head’s up in there! Stand back!” He bellows, and you and Nyx in tandem level your palms to the pile of rock. Libertus scoops the new recruit behind him as a monstrous plume of flame jets from your palms, your combined magic heating the block around you. From your position parallel to the store front, the force of the blast sweeps all but the largest pieces of the wreckage aside, rocks and metal tumbling down the street. What you’re left with are several slabs of concrete you’ll have to leverage out of the way.

“Whoah…” You hear a small voice murmur, and you turn to see the new recruit peeking from behind Libertus’ arm, his eyes shining with awe. You grin broadly, swelling with pride.

 

After leveraging the largest of the debris out of the way of the storefront and clearing an escape route for the trapped Glaives, you walk back to the landing zone with them in the center of a triangle you, Libertus, and Nyx form around them. You’re taking point, while Libertus and Nyx each carry an immobilized Glaive. You need to keep your eyes up for Drautos or other Glaives assigned to making your rescue difficult, and you keep your shield materialized at your arm. You feel a soft tap on your shoulder and you turn to see the Glaive who had led you to the collapsed store.

“I know this is a drill, but I still want to say thank you for rescuing us.”

“Aw. Of course, buddy.”

“That fire, I can’t do anything like that…” He rubs the back of his neck. You smile softly and nudge his shoulder.

“Neither could I, at first. If you’re meant to wield it, when you’re ready, it’ll come. Give it time.”

 

On the airship ride back at the end of your day, Nyx bumps your arm.

“Look at you, kiddo. Leading the next generation.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy to think about,” You blush.

“Nah, I knew you’d do cool shit. Oh hey, speaking of newer recruits, I’m pretty sure Sirius will be ready to join us out here in a week or two. I’ve been looking out for her, like I promised. Libertus has, too.”

Libertus leans forward hearing his name and you give him a broad smile.

“Thank you, guys.”

“We all gotta watch out for each other.” He says with a shrug. “We’re going to need all the numbers we have. It makes me see red thinking about what the Niffs are cooking up.” His usually lighthearted expression turns dark, something you haven’t known from him. It’s unsettling. “Our homes are out there. We need to take them back.”

You chew your lip. You share his sentiment, but something in his tone doesn’t sit right with you. You try to shake off the weird feeling and focus instead on a notification you’d gotten earlier on your phone. You drag down the banner to read the text from Ignis.

 

_“I’ve thought of something. Perhaps an idea you’ll like.”_

 

_“What’s that?”_

 

_“For context, Noct and company, myself included, have recently favored King’s Knight as a pastime for the small moments throughout the day where we aren’t directly preoccupied. It occurs to me that this presents an opportunity for me to perhaps accomplish two things at once.”_

 

_“Overachiever.”_

 

_“You know I always aim to impress. Topically, you mentioned last we were close that you would be content with some…practice.”_

 

_“I am, yeah.”_

_“…Iggy?”_

 

_“Would you were able to see the state I’m in, typing this.”_

 

You thrill a little, and decide to pocket your phone for now, at least until you land and make your way to the changing room and can have a few feet of privacy to read what Ignis is sending you.

 

After bidding farewell to the other Glaives that had accompanied you to this training session outside the wall, you pull your phone from your pocket and read what Ignis had sent you as you walk to your locker.

 

_“If I’m to be spending a few moments an hour on my phone regardless to engage with Noct in King’s Knight (naturally he wouldn’t let me say no), then at least our opportunities to message one another easily triple. Perhaps we could try to learn a little about each other’s desires through text.”_

 

_“Ignis Scientia, are you suggesting we sext?”_

 

_“Not as it were. I want to take note of your needs, but it seems increasingly difficult to spend any significant amount of time with one another. Put simply, well…”_

 

_“…mhm?”_

 

_“Forgive me, you have a way of undoing me. Put simply, though I am very grateful you are willing to settle for our first few attempts at intimacy as learning experiences, in the circumstances which we find ourselves, I’d rather all our…meetings be as far from clumsy as possible, mostly on my part. If I receive some direction from you beforehand through text, perhaps I’ll be able to perform to your standards within a reasonable timeframe. I want to learn what you would want of me.”_

 

He wants to be perfect for you…he’s just too much. You flush deeply and feel your insides squirm as you reply.

 

_“You’re too sweet, Iggy. Usually I’d say I want things to unfold how they would, but I can’t argue with you here.”_

 

_“Please don’t feel pressured to accept if you’d rather not.”_

 

_“No, it’s a good idea. Let’s work with what we have. What do you wanna know?”_

 

 

You’re texting Ignis intermittently throughout the day, and long after you’ve showered and left the Citadel. You find yourself in your pajamas on your couch at home, riding waves of oscillating lust and affection as you play an extended game of twenty questions with your would-be lover.

 

_“We've been only talking about me. What about you? What do you like?"_

 

There's a long pause before ellipses appear on your screen to indicate he's texting back. 

 

_"I can guess. I suppose I know I like what you've done, though I do admit I never took myself for the type to enjoy biting and scratching."_

 

_"Huh...maybe you like the feeling of letting your composure go? Like going a little wild?"_

 

_"Something I'd never have guessed about myself. I'm not so singularly-faceted as some accuse, but I thought I knew myself until this point."_

 

You flush a little as you reply.

 

_"It's p sexy that you're discovering things about yourself because of me."_

 

_"I wholeheartedly agree.”_

 

You chew your lip, wondering if you'll be pushing it too far as you type your next question to him. 

 

_"You don't have to answer, but I'm p curious. Have you ever...like fantasized about me? Or anyone I guess."_

 

_“You make me blush. A younger me had nothing to gain by doing so, but in recent weeks…I admit I’ve leaned on my imagination, yes.”_

 

_“…And?”_

 

_“I assure you it’s extremely tame.”_

 

_“Yes?”_

 

_“…I just like the thought of knowing exactly what I need to do to please you. That’s partly why I asked if you’d let me in on your preferences before we try anything.”_

 

_“Gods, you are so sweet.”_

 

_“Don’t be too certain, there’s a particular thrill I experience when imagining watching you beg me for more.”_

 

Your insides shiver.

 

_“I like the sound of that, too. We’ll just have to get you to that point, won’t we?"_

 

_“You minx.”_

 

 

Another facet of not being able to spend any reasonable chunk of time with Ignis is that you haven’t been able to meet his contemporaries. You ask him about it as your paths cross on your patrol one afternoon a week later in late March.

"Even though I do wanna meet your boy band, I wouldn’t want to spend any free time I might get with anyone other than you."

"I very selfishly agree. You far and away top my hierarchy of needs.” His voice lowers a notch and he leans closer, ghosting his mouth across your temple. “Leaving it unmet for so long is taking its toll."

You shudder and swallow. 

"What kind of toll?" You slowly ask, chewing your lip and glancing at him through your lashes. 

"You torture me, asking me to verbalize it." 

“Please?"

You hear his breath become strained and his eyes darken.

“My every waking hour is spent fighting to focus myself against craving your mouth on me again.” He rubs his neck, somewhere between bashfulness and need. “Were I able to tear myself from you, I’d ask for you to mark me again now, just to have proof of your touch.”

Your knees wobble, weakened from the chest down by his lustful words. Shakily you reply,

“People would stare,”

“And I would let them stare, my dear. I care little for the opinions of those outside my superiors and my loved ones.”

Faintly you recall he had gone out proudly bearing the bruise you’d left on his birthday, and you shake yourself back into composure as you ask him about it.

“And what do your loved ones think?”

“As you suspected, there were some insistent inquiries about the bruise,” He chuckles. “I admit their incredulousness was so entertaining I might have needlessly kept you shrouded in mystery.”

“I like the idea of being your mystery girl,” You grin. “I’m surprised though, Prince N…Noct hasn’t spilled it, yet?”

“He might find a similar amusement in watching his friends tie themselves into knots trying to ascertain what I could _possibly_ find interesting in a relationship.”

He grins around his sarcastic tone. You blush a little and nuzzle into his neck.

“I’m flattered your standards are so high.”

“Not only that. You have redefined me, my dear,” He pulls away from you gently and gives you a meaningful look. “I never pictured myself with a companion like you at my side. It may be too soon to tactfully voice such a thing, but now I admit I’m loath to imagine myself without you.”

You’re struck by his soulful words and you feel a little breathless as you clutch him to you in an embrace, pressing your lips to his. Something about the way his breath feels on your cheek as he softly exhales as you kiss reminds you of a fleeting thought you had on New Year’s Eve, when your first kiss had been cut short and your musings had been rattled. A revelation you had that had been muddled and forgotten in the unceremonious and sudden introduction to your Prince resurfaces within you with force.

You need to tell this man that you love him.

 

 

You're not hesitant, and you're not nervous exactly, but you do want it to be the right moment for you to tell Ignis of the depth of your feelings for him, and the right moment is making itself scarce. Your paths cross every other day or so for a few minutes, Ignis on his way to attend royal matters and you at your patrol post—hardly a good setting for a feelings-bomb. You miss his cooking and pine for a dinner date with him, feeling that to be the only plausibly attainable setting for you to confess to him, but equally strong within you is the need to explore his body. You flush darkly. You're dual-wielding desires; each would be a massive step into the relationship, and you're not sure which would—or could—come first. 

 

The first day of April brings with it a revival of the gloomy weather from which March had given you a reprieve. You were meant to fly to the outskirts of the city for rescue training, but the unexpected and torrential downpour interrupts your airship's takeoff. You and the rest of your comrades are ordered to standby while the pilots and your superiors evaluate whether it's too great a risk to fly in this weather. You find yourself flopped on the floor of the loading deck, leaning your head against a wall and closing you eyes for a moment. You're not tired exactly, but there is a certain frustration in the time you’re wasting here, when time has become such a large obstacle in your relationship as of late. You’re attempting to avoid feeling so miffed by maybe dozing lightly for a few minutes. You feel a body slide down the wall next to you and join you on the floor.

"Damn, and on my first day, too." You recognize Sirius' voice and your eyes flutter open. She's smiling wryly at you. "I was stoked to finally be in your class, Senpai." 

"Guess it'll need to wait," You poke her in the ribs. "How have you been? How’s—" Your eyes flick over her arms, but she's bundled tight into her Glaive coat. "How's the...progress?"

"Drautos still hasn't given me a patrol route, but I'm pretty confident I'll be kicking enough ass here that he'll come around with some light convincing." She says, perhaps deliberately misinterpreting your inquiry. You sigh reservedly. Nyx was right that you can't convince her to slow down, all you can do is keep tabs on her, but she's evasive about even that. She's determined to be able enough to protect her city, no matter the cost. It reminds you of the devotion Ignis feels to his Prince, and knowing you could never convince Ignis to think of his own safety before his convictions to Prince Noctis helps you frame Sirius' actions and had led you to reluctantly cease your attempts to reason with her. Even so, and even with Ignis' reassurance that death is likely a far off risk for her, you still feel anxiety pull at your guts whenever you remember the scarring spiderwebbed across her arms. 

"Patrol isn't as glamorous as all that," You manage. She grins coyly. 

“Oh? But I hear from Crowe you do a lot of making out with your blueblooded snack during your patrols.”

You startle, cocking a brow incredulously.

"What? Crowe isn't one to gossip—”

"She's also not one to keep unnecessary secrets." She shrugs, grinning fiendishly. “She just mentioned it in passing during our last round of sparring. You guys can't keep your hands off one another until you're off the clock?" 

"It's not like that, Sirius." You say flatly, closing your eyes again and leaning your head back against the wall frustratedly. Sirius' tone shifts as she softly asks you what is. You sigh, "We've just...been busy. We don't have a chance to see each other at all outside of crossing paths while I'm on patrol. I know it's not the most professional to do that, but...I guess I just miss him. A lot. I can't help it."

Sirius is quiet for a moment. "Damn, that sucks."

"Yeah. What’s worse is sometimes I'm still here when he wraps up his day, but I just have to go home and get some sleep."

"What about your days off?"

"He doesn't really get those, so we never know until the last second when he's got some spare time, and you can imagine how often it lines up with my days off, these days." 

"But he's got nights free. What about the night before your weekend?"

You blush a little and chew your lip. 

"It's been a little too...charged for that, I think. We could try to just hang out but I—um...he needs sleep, too."

"Ohhhh." Her tone shifts again and you open your eyes to study her as she continues, brows peaked, "Six, what month are you guys on? How long has this been an issue?"

“Sirius." 

"Okay, okay. Sorry, I don't mean to pry, I just didn't know your schedules were fucking you up this bad."

You sigh defeatedly.

"We knew it would be hard."

A voice you don’t recognize, maybe one of the pilots, announces that the rescue training for today has been cancelled. You groan and stand as another voice cuts in, this time recognizably Drautos.

“If you’ve got a post to cover, go report to it. Everyone else, head back to the foyer of the Kingsglaive wing for a weapons and uniform maintenance check.

Together with the rest of your Glaives, you give an affirmative salute. As the gathered crowd begins to disperse to their respective stations, Sirius bumps your arm.

“You going to your post by your tactician’s door?”

“Looks like. Maybe I’ll get an extra chance to chat, that will be nice,” You muse, a little smile fluttering over your features. Sirius cocks a brow, studying you for a moment as you have another thought: “Oh, I should let him know.” Ignis knows you're meant to fly out beyond the wall today to train, but surely he's concerned about the flying conditions, and well within reason since indeed your training was cancelled. 

 

_"Hey Iggy, turns out it's too risky to use the airships today, so I'm just heading to my post now. Hope to see you <3"_

 

You hit send before you realize you added a heart at the end of your text. You blanch a little, maybe your recent agonizing over how to tell him you love him causing you to fear that this is a misstep. Ellipses appear under your message. 

 

_"Good to hear, I was worried about the weather posing a danger. I'm actually at home now, I could take a trip down to see you, if you'd like."_

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You can’t help but frustratedly burst, startling Sirius who had leaned her weight against the wall and closed her eyes.

“What? What is it?”

“He’s at _home_ today, Sirius. I thought I was going to be half the city away today, but I’ll be patrolling at his doorstep and just to add insult to injury, he’s at _home_.”

“Oh. Shit,” Is all she says, softly.

You sigh, clutching the bridge of your nose.

“It’s fine. This is how we expected it would be.”

“Still,” She says slowly, seeming to think deeply for a moment before her expression lifts and her headstrong, chipper tone returns. “Well, I gotta go spit-shine my blade really quick for that weapons maintenance check. I’ll see you soon, Senpai.”

“Sure thing, Sirius.” You hug her goodbye and begin your trek to the inner Citadel, continuing to text Ignis.

 

_"You're at home in the middle of the day?"_

 

_"Unprecedented, I know. It would seem King Regis declined to include Noct in today's council meetings, so I have no need to fill in for him. Whatever matters at hand are being discussed, they must be beyond Noct's sphere of influence."_

 

_"That's...concerning."_

 

_"Indeed. The upside is that I have today to myself, were it only to include you it would be perfect."_

 

You smile a little ruefully, arriving at the inner Citadel. 

 

_"I'll come up on my lunch hour, it'll at least be nice to see you for more than a few minutes."_

 

_"I look forward to it"_

_" <3"_

 

Your stomach flutters. He returned your heart, that's so cute—Maybe…maybe at lunch you'll confess. You sigh and shake your head, getting your bearings and sliding your phone away as you take up your patrol. 

 

The storm darkens the halls of the inner Citadel, and as you circle your patrol route the wind whistles eerily against the tall windows, causing the rain to streak almost horizontally across the glass. The howling is punctuated unevenly by bursts of thunder. You wonder distantly if those among the Glaive who can wield lightning can harness the real thing from the sky. If not, then perhaps the King can. You bet it looks super cool. You make a mental note to try and influence the flame of a candle at some point in the near future. 

You feel a hand grasp the cuff of your sleeve and you turn to see Sirius, giving you an understated, sly smile. You cock a brow. 

"That spit-shine do the trick?"

"Guess it did, because I convinced Drautos I was ready for patrol."

“Oh! That's awesome, Sirius! I can't believe—”

"I'm here to relieve you."

Your brows knit, taken aback.

"What?"

"I asked for this patrol route. I'm scheduled for the slot after yours, but I'll swing a double shift today, just for you."

Still confused and head whirling a little, you try and form a sentence asking her to clarify what exactly she means. She purses her lips and raises a brow at you.

"Don't make me do the whole 'go to him' bit, Senpai. Go clock out and enjoy the rest of your day."

Understanding washes over you like an ocean wave slapping into your face. You yank her into a fevered embrace, clutching her to you in an attempt to convey the concentration of your gratitude to her in this moment. 

"Astrals, you're the best, Sirius!"

Though younger than you, she affectionately pats your hair as you hug her.

"I know, I know. Go on, the walk from here to the Glaive wing and back is a long one, you don't wanna waste time."

You disentangle yourself from her and meaningfully hold her by the shoulders at arm's length, leveling your eyes to hers. 

"I'm going to tell him I love him." 

"Then you better walk fast."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated the tags, YALLREADY KNOW WHAT THE FUCK GOIN ON

You don't even pause to text Ignis and let him know you're coming as you race across the length of the Citadel to the Glaive wing to clock out and hurriedly change into your civilian clothes before speeding back to the elevators that lead to Ignis' home. You catch your breath on the ride up, finally taking a moment to stand still, but only because you have no choice. 

Your movements are powered by a frenetic tension and your heart is beating in your throat, somewhere between excitement and anxiety. You have no plan, you just know you want to see him, be with him in his home, and after weeks of hardly more exchanged than stolen kisses and segments of larger conversations, all you can think of is leaping into his arms and drowning your senses in all of him. 

Your knock is stuttering and you fidget as you hear him approach the door, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You can read the surprise on his features when he opens it, but his tone is happy and welcoming.

"It's so lovely seeing you earlier than anticipated, my dear. Did you take an early lunch?"

"I-I got the day off..." You summarize. You can tell him of Sirius' impressive wingwomanship later. You vibrate in place, your atoms desperate to crash with his. His expression shifts through several emotions as you watch him succinctly arrive at individual steps leading to an inevitable conclusion. He swallows, his stern features focused and suddenly hungry. He exhales slowly, asking, 

"How would you like to spend it?"

Wordlessly you reach your arms out and move toward him, grasping at his collar and pulling his face to yours. He sweeps you inside and hurriedly shuts the door behind you, hardly waiting for the slam of the door before his mouth is on yours. You clutch at his shirt and unevenly undo buttons, pushing your hands into the flesh of his chest, his stomach. He inhales sharply at your fervent touches and shrugs his shoulders out of his shirt, breaking from your heated kisses to feverishly undo the buttons on his shirt cuffs. You take the necessary moment away from his mouth to all-but kick off your shoes. The new expanse of skin Ignis reveals to you as he fully discards his shirt is statuesque and beautiful to behold, not an inch of flesh wasted bound over his ribs and sloping waist and lithe hipbones, flecked at uneven intervals with moles and freckles like stars across his body. 

You gasp and claw at his hips, digging your nails into his Apollo's belt and earning a salacious moan poured from his mouth into yours. You melt and let him press you backward into the wall of the entryway, pinning you flush with his body and running his hands under the hem of your shirt. You clumsily help him yank your shirt over your head, and as he covers your mouth with his again he loops his arms under your hips and lifts you from the ground. Your startled noise is quickly overtaken by heated whimpers as he clutches needfully at the skin across your back. 

You move your mouth from his and nose his chin up, pressing your lips to the soft skin under his jaw. You hear his breath hitch and feel his stance falter, and he begins to take a few stumbling steps forward when you open your mouth and close your teeth around the corded muscle of his neck. The response this earns is intense and immediate. 

Ignis' balance is lost completely as he tilts his throat harder into your mouth, a strained groan gathering heat and volume as he stumbles and collapses to his knees in his living room, a third of the way to his bedroom. You're knocked from his grip and your mouth is torn from his neck as you slide from his arms and fall the short distance to the hardwood floor at Ignis' knees. A huff escapes you as you impact, but you hardly have time to get your bearings as Ignis falls upon you, pinning you to the floor under him, his palms braced at either side of your head. He eyes you from under askew glasses as he hovers over you, ribs expanding and contracting with labored breaths. 

"Are..." He stutters for a breath. "Are you alright?" You let out a feverish giggle, which seems to be an acceptable enough answer to his question, and good thing it is because that's all you can manage for now. "I was…quite overcome for a moment, I’m so sorry for dropping you—”

"Don't stop, Iggy..." You manage, your pitch high and far from seductive, but your plea nonetheless reignites the hunger in his gaze. He tears his glasses from his face and sets them hurriedly on the nearest side table. 

"Here?" He asks, indicating the hard floor you find yourself pinned to. "Or...or would you prefer to move this to the bed?" He flushes so dark it's nearly burgundy and you can't help the endearing smile that breaks across your features. 

"Won't this hurt your knees?"

"I don't care."

You shiver at his words and thread your fingers through his hair, pulling his face down to you. He presses his mouth to your chest, kissing the heated skin over your thrumming heart, and your hands clutch at the flesh along his shoulders and back as you arch from the floor, pushing your chest harder into his mouth. He groans at your movements and lifts a palm from the floor, sliding his arm under the curve of your spine and lifting you partially, your body arched under him with the apex where his lips are pressed hungrily to your heart, your head lolling loosely back as you hum needfully. 

His ministrations continuing, you flickeringly recall the intimate, salacious exchanges and requests you’ve texted back and forth for the past week and a half.

 

 

_“No, it’s a good idea. Let’s work with what we have. What do you wanna know?”_

 

_“That’s such a broad question. Where to begin?”_

 

_“Well tell me this: You a tits guy or an ass guy?”_

 

_“…I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.”_

 

_“Haha, well?”_

 

_“…I suppose the former.”_

 

_“Yeah, I can see that. So um…I guess…wanna know what I like done to mine?"_

 

 

Skillfully as someone who’s done it a hundred times, with his hand propping your chest forward by your shoulder blades, he singlehandedly unhooks the clasps of your bra. You feel the support of the elastic slacken and a groan leaves your throat, mixed with a needy chuckle.

“Who have you been practicing that on?”

“What?” Ignis breathily gasps. You angle your head up to look at him.

“You did that with one hand.”

He somehow blushes darker, his swept up hair beginning to wilt and strand over his forehead.

“I might have researched some tips.”

“Gods, you’re a nerd.” You can’t help the full laugh that escapes you. He bashfully grins.

“One who aims to impress, mind you. How am I doing so far?”

“Hmm. Too soon to call.”

“Best to continue, then?” He asks, a request for your consent buried in a wickedly seductive tone. Your eyes flutter and you shyly slip your arms from your bra straps and discard the article to the side, baring your breasts to him. You summon a boldness to your tone as you say, half-command, half-plea:

“Impress me.”

 

 

_“Six, you’ll be the death of me with talk like that.”_

 

_“You’re the one who thought this idea up!”_

 

_“True…and yes, please tell me.”_

 

_“Just…imagine me saying all this with my face buried in my hands and a huge stupid blush all over.”_

 

_“That’s so endearing—I will do so.”_

 

_“Charmer. So…Oh Six, okay”_

_“So there’s this thing where you sorta just”_

_“use your mouth”_

_“but it’s not just sucking, there’s teeth? But not too much teeth, obv”_

_“I’m explaining this badly.”_

 

_“Does it help to know I’m indeed imagining all this spoken through your hands as you blush?”_

 

_“A little.”_

 

 

Ignis growls at your words and heatedly pushes his mouth over yours, devouring your moans and whimpers. He plants an agonizing trail of nips and kisses down your neck, angling you in his arms to arch your chest up to his mouth again. Any nervousness you might have felt at newly revealing yourself to him crumbles away as he closes his mouth over one of your nipples. Your head lolls back and a cry leaves your throat as he draws the sensitive flesh into his mouth, holding the bud of nerves delicately between his teeth and drawing the blood to it with the suction of his mouth around it.

You wriggle in his grip, unable to completely direct your movements, trying to both push away from and pull towards the sensation. Ignis’ grasp tightens and he sits back on his knees, bringing you up to straddle his lap without ever breaking his mouth from your breast. He clutches you to him and with his other hand, now freed from propping his weight up off of you, he cups your other breast and fits the nipple between his index and middle fingers, squeezing with a precise lightness that has you keening at his touch. He groans into your flesh, the vibrations of his voice spiking through your insides, and he lets your breast slide from his mouth with a tense exhale,

“Gods, your voice…the sounds you make…” He foggily looks up at you, lust painted across every line of his face. You draw breath shakily, swallowing and smiling sweetly.

“All for you, Iggy. Though don’t get comfortable, I still wouldn’t say I’m impressed.” You fiendishly lean down and murmur into his ear, “And I’d like to hear you sing for me, too.” And you sink your teeth into his shoulder.

Immediately he tenses under you like a spring, clutching at your back and leaving red half moons with his nails, fisting his other hand into your hair. His skin tastes like raw sugar cane and chamomile. He gasps roughly and arches into you, and you wish you could see his expression while still burying your teeth into the crook of his neck. Watching his eyes roll back as he exclaims in pleasure would be a sinful indulgence. It hurts how much his needy cries arouse you and you groan into the reddening skin at Ignis’ throat, feeling your breasts brush the bare skin of his chest and pushing your hips into his as you straddle his lap, still on his knees on the hardwood floor.

“Six,” He gasps, clutching your sides. You noisily loose your mouth from his neck and run your tongue once over the bruised skin before leaning back and meeting his fogged gaze. “Please, I can’t stand it…let me see more of you…” He grasps at your hips, still snug in your steadily dampening jeans. You swallow, your eyes fluttering as you lace your voice with seductive tones.

“I imagine you’re pretty uncomfortable, too, Iggy?” You grind against his lap and he yelps, the sound more desperate and sexy than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Gods—D-Don’t torture me, I beg you…”

“I just want to make sure you’re taking impressing me seriously,” You tease, standing shakily from his lap. He nearly whines at the loss of contact with your body, but quickly his focus shifts as you peel yourself out of your jeans.

 

 

_"What are you most curious about?"_

 

_"There's a particular mystique in your legs. The weather has hardly permitted light clothing in our time together. You might think it an innocent answer, but I’ve never seen your skin there."_

 

_"There's other stuff you haven't seen."_

 

_"Remember who you're talking to; if you want a graceless answer like ‘your tits' then you should ask Gladio."_

 

_"IGNIS. That mouth!"_

 

_"My point stands."_

 

 

You stand in just your underwear, tall over his still-kneeling form. Ignis exhales slowly and extends his hands toward your thighs, ghosting his fingertips over the curve of your hips and pressing his palms into the flesh there. Should he choose to, he could easily hook his thumbs around your last remaining article of clothing and render you completely bare to him, but you trust he'd do nothing so bold without asking, at least here and now. 

"You're beautiful," He croaks, voice lost somewhere in the reverence of beholding you. You melt into his hands and take a step forward, closing the short distance between you and lacing your fingers through his hair. He presses a kiss into the apex of your ribcage, holding you still by the gentle pressure of his hands gripped to your hips, his hair brushing the curves of your breasts. Your breath hitches, and when your grip in his hair reflexively stiffens, he groans at the dull pain in his scalp and you feel his nails sink into the plushness of your hips, drawing a whine from your throat. Your hips roll forward instinctively, caught between attempting to dislodge his nails and seeking out more stimulation, and the languid movement against Ignis' body ignites a growl in his throat. His grip on you redoubles as he bites into the flesh of your rib cage just under your breast. 

You feel him shift his weight onto one knee and before you can angle your head to see what he's doing, he has an arm hooked behind your knees and is rising to his feet with you swept bridal style into his arms. You let out a frenetic giggle and loop your arms at his shoulders, blushing. It feels nice to be cradled like this with so much skin touching. You press a deep kiss to his neck and a soft growl resonates through his throat. 

"I don't want to drop you again, my dear. I would ask that you hold off until I finish moving you to a softer surface."

"You didn't really drop me," You chuckle as he begins carrying you down the hall toward his bedroom. Your insides tremble as you approach and Ignis senses your nerves, slowing for a beat.

"If you'd rather not—”

"Keep going, Ignis." You're surprised by the command your voice has, and his eyes flutter at your tone and the implication in your words. 

"As you wish," He murmurs. His tongue ghosts over his lips as he resumes his pace and carries you to his bed, the scent of him concentrating as you enter his bedroom. 

As you slide from his arms and onto the edge of the large bed, you brush past the solid protrusion still trapped in his slacks, and the fleeting contact drags a groan from his throat. Wickedly inspired, before he has the chance to step away or join you on the bed, you languidly cross one leg over the other and press a fingertip to his belt buckle. Immediately his movements seize, frozen and helpless to do anything but witness you ghost your fingers from his belt down to the joining of his legs, pressing lovingly into the hardened flesh through his slacks. His hands shake at his sides and a thrill of confidence surges through you. You’ll be the one to break thiscomposed tactician down to his primal urges.

“I see you shaking, Iggy.” You murmur, your tone laced heavily with devilish saccharine as you flutter your gaze up to his and coyly tease, “What’s wrong?”

“I-I—” He chokes, breath hitching as you palm his clothed erection. “Astrals—it’s torture, just standing here with you looking like that, t-touching me…Please, I need you, now—”

Your already overwhelming arousal redoubles and you can’t help the small whine that bubbles up in your throat, but you want to push him just a tiny bit further. You press your palm to his abdomen and gently push, asking him to take a step back. He does without hesitating, but there’s a particular strain in the lines of his face that intensifies as he reluctantly increases the distance between you. You lean back on your hands and recross your legs purposefully, wordlessly nodding to his remaining clothing. Understanding, Ignis swallows and exhales and brings his hands to his waist, his belt buckle jingling as he slides his slacks and boxers together down his thighs and steps from them, completely bared to you.

You had a decent idea what he’s packing from the feeling of it through his slacks, but seeing his flushed cock freed to the air and twitching lightly in time with his heightened pulse adds a layer to your hunger for him that curls through your bones and makes you salivate. His legs are thickly muscled too, the striations in his thighs and calves a testament to the power in his body. You unabashedly stare. He watches you do so, blushing from his high, elegant cheekbones all the way down to his shoulders.

 

 

_“We've been only talking about me. What about you? What do you like?"_

 

_"I can guess. I suppose I know I like what you've done, though I do admit I never took myself for the type to enjoy biting and scratching."_

 

_"Huh...maybe you like the feeling of letting your composure go? Like going a little wild?"_

 

_"Something I'd never have guessed about myself. I'm not so singularly-faceted as some accuse, but I thought I knew myself until this point."_

 

_"It's p sexy that you're discovering things about yourself because of me."_

 

_"I wholeheartedly agree.”_

 

 

“Does that self-control ever get difficult, Ignis?” You hum, standing languidly from his bed and hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear. You hear him draw a shaking breath as you do so, locking eyes with his. “Don’t you ever want to let go? Don’t you ever want to just chase those desires you set aside, the ones that would ruin your composure?”

“You minx,” He grits, diaphragm fluttering and hands flexing at his sides. You smile sweetly as you pull your underwear from your hips, letting them pool at your feet and baring the last of your flesh to him. His eyes rake over you and you sense fully now the change in his demeanor, but you know he won’t move forward without invitation. You angle a brow at him.

“You didn’t answer, Iggy.”

“Only with you,” He manages, shivers running in waves through his body as he stands, tensed like a spring a few feet from you. “You’re the only one who has ever made me feel like what’s inside me will break me apart. You’re the only one who has seen me…like _this_ ,” He nearly snarls the last few words, waist buckling as he leans forward, but his feet remain planted. You manage to keep a lid on your own excitement as you calmly sit once more at the edge of his bed, basking fiendishly in the thrill of picking Ignis undone, bit by bit.

“I’m honored, then,” You tilt your head and extend your hand to him. He takes a stuttering few steps forward and you press the flat of your palm to his abdomen as he slows in front of you, your wrist brushing the side of the length of heated flesh brandished at your throat. Ignis lets out a strangled gasp.

“What do you want?” He pleads hoarsely, “Anything, I’ll do anything, just let me make love to you.”

His words light a fire in your blood, and his smell of ash and cloves mixes with salt and burns a hole through your restraint. You flutter your eyes to his astoundingly green ones andwith words slow and dark and sweet, you deliver the killing strike:

“I want you to impress me.”

You watch his eyes blacken and the anticipatory shaking wracking his body subsides almost in an instant. When he speaks, there’s a predatory edge to it, like a man starved and at his wit’s end, presented suddenly with one chance to slake his hunger—you.

“I will endeavor to do nothing less.”

 

 

_“Is it too soon to talk about”_

_“Gods, okay just um”_

_“Is it too soon to talk about the penetrative stuff”_

 

_“Do fill me in.”_

 

_“WAS THAT A PUN”_

 

_“Merely trying to ease the tension of the subject.”_

 

_“Well it worked like a charm. So…I confess it’s been a while…”_

 

_“I empathize completely.”_

 

_“Okay yes, not as long as for you lol. Two things tho: 1, for very non-sexy reasons, I’ve kept up on birth control, so…lucky you.”_

 

_“Six…You’re too good to me. I’ll come undone right here in public.”_

 

_“I would pay to see that tbh. The second thing is…probably when we”_

_“…get down to it, it might help to like…warm me up, some?”_

 

_“Luckily for you, I’m incredibly skilled with my hands.”_

 

_“Astrals, Ignis, that’s cruel.”_

 

_“Apologies, my dear. Allow me to make it up to you in the near future. Tell me how to touch you, teach me what a man should know.”_

 

 

He’s upon you, sweeping you into his arms and pulling you farther onto the bed, mouth at the crook of your neck, one hand threaded into your hair and the other sliding down your body to touch and familiarize the new expanse of flesh at your hips, your thighs, your core. Your hands fist into his hair as he slides his fingers smoothly over the folds of sensitive flesh between your thighs and you hungrily hook a knee over his hip, fighting a growl building in your chest. Ignis shudders over you, tensely dipping a fingertip past where skin gives way to tissue and seeking out flesh more slicked for him.

Your voice is clear and sharp like a bell for him when his soft fingers brush your clit, a cry ringing out short and sweet from your throat as your body jolts under him. It’s always so much more exciting when a lover touches you than when you’re by yourself, and Ignis’ touch, though inexperienced, is no exception. It seems so far that your blushing, fidgety exchanges with him through text were well worth the momentary embarrassment, because Ignis moves with confidence—as he does with everything—as he shifts his lips from the crook of your neck to cover your mouth and slips a finger smoothly into you.

The heel of his palm grinds against your clit as a second long finger joins the first, seeking to learn your body inside and out. You roll your hips and clutch at his hair, hands fluttering across his broad shoulders, trying to find somewhere to anchor yourself to him. He groans at the languid movement of your body under him and nips at your lip, drawing a gasp from you. He presses his forehead to yours and you distantly sense a peal of thunder rattle the windows of the Citadel, punctuating his heavy breaths. You slide your hand from his back and wriggle it between your bodies, reaching to return his ministrative favors, but your fingertips only brush the heated, silky skin before Ignis pulls away from your grasp, firmly gripping your forearm and stilling your movements. 

“I—" His eyes flutter around for a moment before meeting yours, dark and raw. "I already don't know how long I'll last, my dear. If you tease me further...That is, I'd be loath to—” 

You press a fingertip to his mouth, gently silencing his nervous chatter and giving him a sweet smile. 

"Your note-taking is working. You're doing great, you nerd." As you hoped, this seems to take the edge off his nerves and he lets out a tense chuckle. You continue, "You're sure you don't want me to touch you?"

"N-Not this time," He chokes, and you can, for the first time, read the mistruth in his expression. You raise a brow, moving to cup the side of his face in your palm. He leans into your hand and a surge of affection mingles with your lust. 

"What do you want, then?" You coyly flutter your lashes at him. He exhales slowly, punctuated by a soft moan. He turns his mouth into your palm and nips at your fingertips, murmuring, 

"You," 

 

 

_"You don't have to answer, but I'm p curious. Have you ever...like fantasized about me? Or anyone I guess."_

 

_“You make me blush. A younger me had nothing to gain by doing so, but in recent weeks…I admit I’ve leaned on my imagination, yes.”_

 

_“…And?”_

 

_“I assure you it’s extremely tame.”_

 

_“Yes?”_

 

_“…I just like the thought of knowing exactly what I need to do to please you. That’s partly why I asked if you’d let me in on your preferences before we try anything.”_

 

 

You shiver helplessly, and Ignis' fingers inside you, momentarily stilled as you had spoken, twitch at your shuddering. You lift your hips again into his hand and his gentle nips turn rapidly to hungry bites at your forearm as he pushes deeper into you, moving his hand like a damned expert against the twin clusters of nerves both within and without you. 

He moves his lips along the length of your arm, planting kisses and small bites across your shoulder and chest and finally latching his mouth again over your breast. It draws a cry from you and as you fight to collect your breath, you manage to gasp out,

"Then you can have me."

He groans needfully against the wet flesh of your breast and shifts his mouth away, slowly sliding his fingers from your passage. Your body protests losing all the stimulation and you nearly whine at the loss, but the breath leaves you as you watch him bring his wet fingers to his mouth and run his tongue over the shining skin, tasting the proof of what he does to you. Your insides squirm painfully and a raspy groan leaves your throat, drawing a light chuckle from Ignis.

"You're cruel, doing depraved, sexy stuff like that and not even letting me touch you," You say with short, sharp breaths. He arches a knowing brow, and as understanding collides with you, your pitch is laced with frustration as you burst, "You're teasing me on purpose!"

"You've caught me." He smirks, but there's a softness to his smug expression you can't pin down. "But it's with the best intentions, I swear it. Not least of which is the question of our comparative staminas, though I, ah..." His eyes shift around, his flush redoubling. "I'm finding a particular pleasure in just..."

He softly cups your cheek, pressing his thumb to your lower lip, his gaze peering deeply into yours. He sits back slightly and lifts his other hand from the bed beside you and without warning closes his grasp around your breast, tugging gently at the pilled tissue and drawing a sudden sharp, needful cry from you. His eyes blacken further at the sound.

"...this," He finishes duskily, watching you slowly come undone under him and sliding his thumb past your parted lips and onto your tongue. You moan shamefully around it, the subtle gesture of dominance something you adore, but had honestly not expected from Ignis during your first time being intimate together. He exhales hotly and runs his tongue over his lips, drawing his hand away from your mouth. 

"Gods damn you, how are you already _so good at this?_ " You can't hide the hunger in your voice, and your hands are pulling greedily at his hips without your bidding. You're one more feather-light touch to your core or squeeze of a breast away from hooking your legs around his hips and dragging him into you. There's a shade of bashfulness in his smile as he presses his forehead to yours.

"All credit goes to you, my love." 

The word makes your heart throb suddenly and sharply, and if you weren't already trying to catch your breath, it would have knocked the wind from your lungs. If Ignis had chosen not to capture your mouth in a deep kiss in that moment it wouldn't have mattered; words have left you for now. You're not even sure he noticed his choice of phrasing. You let yourself slide back into the need for him your body aches with, sighs changing shade until you're whining against his mouth. Your hips roll unbidden into his abdomen and he groans, sliding an arm under your back and clutching you flush to him. He breaks the kiss with a hot, strained breath and levels your gaze to his.

“…I know you have your own contraceptives at work, but I…” Ignis is silent for a few shaking breaths, and you hear him swallow shallowly. “I find myself torn. I almost want to use a condom regardless just to dull the sensation and prolong our encounter,” He grins shyly and you fall in love all over again. A hot blush settles over your features as you bring a hand up and gently cup his cheek.

“Is that what you really want though?” You lace your voice with dark saccharine and watch his eyes blacken again at your words. “Do you really want to settle for only most of me, if you don’t have to?”

“…No,” His confession is quiet and rough and you feel his cock twitch against your flesh. You can see the fractures in his composure widening, and a wicked grin paints itself upon your face. All you need is one more good strike and his dam will come crumbling down, a torrent of desire let loose onto you, and you thrill a little and gently dig your nails into the flesh at his hip, drawing a small, choked moan from him and re-intensifying the heat in his blood.

 

 

_“Gods, you are so sweet.”_

 

_“Don’t be too certain, there’s a particular thrill I experience when imagining watching you beg me for more.”_

 

_“I like the sound of that, too. We’ll just have to get you to that point, won’t we?"_

 

 

“Ignis,” Your voice warbles like you’re stifling a sob, “Please…”

It’s all you need to say. A shudder runs through his body, resonating in his bones like wind through a hollow tree and cascading in waves outward through his flesh. It’s hypnotic and sexy and it bleeds into your own body, his infectious lustful shivers igniting aftershocks over your skin. You hear a growl vibrate low in his chest, the sound synonymous more with his fierce energy you know from your sparring sessions than with the intimate touches you’re exchanging. He lowers his forehead to yours and his gaze takes up the whole of your vision. It’s sharp and fiery like you know him to be, but there’s a blackness that’s overtaken the vibrancy of the green in his eyes and there’s a hunger that has put a raw edge to his focus, a desperation to his thinking, a wildness to his conduct.

“Would you do the honor?” He rasps, ghosting his lips over yours. You squirm and clutch at his hips, digging your nails into his skin and dragging him against you. He lets out a choked growl at the dull pain and you feel the length of his erection press flush with your thigh, and when you hook your legs shamefully around him, you feel it throb. He shifts slightly to allow you to slip your hand between your bodies and finally, finally lets you touch the heated length of flesh hardened for you.

You capture his mouth in a kiss, soft but insistent, and relish the shudder that runs through him as you raise your hips up to meet him and press the head of his cock against your entrance. His breath comes in short bursts against your cheek as you grip onto his hip with your other hand and pull him closer, encouraging him to push into you, and with a surrendering moan vibrating low in his chest, the last of his composure leaves him as he does so, a stuttering vocalization escaping him and pouring into your mouth. You can't help but grin around it as you slide your hand from between your bodies, guidance finished, and thread your fingers through his hair as you pull almost demandingly at his hip, rolling your own to meet his. 

There's some discomfort as your insides conform to him, but the sheer buildup of desire for him and Ignis' expert study makes the transition quick and easily the sexiest you’ve experienced. You still can't help the small groan that escapes you as Ignis finishes pushing into you, your hips flushed together and his face buried in the crook of your neck. He's still for a beat, and you nuzzle your mouth against his ear.

"Are you waiting for me?" You murmur. He draws a shaking, slow breath and you feel every fiber of his torso ignite again with oxygen. How long has he been holding his breath? You grin.

"...Just...trying to gauge everything..." He says tightly into your shoulder. 

"You're too sweet," You giggle, shifting your grip on his hair to a soft caress. "But...please don't make me wait any longer, Iggy,"

 

 

_“You’re wonderful Iggy, and I'm sure all this note-taking will help, but I don't want there to be any like"_

_"feelings of shame if it's not perfect. It rarely is, tbh. That goes for me too, it's not all on you at all."_

 

_"We agreed right at the start that it wasn't our goal to be picturesque. I suppose it would only be in keeping with the sentiment."_

 

_"Is there anything you have in mind to try, tho? Anything you want in particular?_

 

_"What would you have of me?"_

 

_"All you have to give."_

 

_"Then that's all I want."_

 

 

Ignis shivers and gives a slow, experimental thrust, groaning hotly into your shoulder. You hum into his ear and tighten your grip into his hair again, and this earns you a lower, fiercer vocalization and he pushes deeper, making your sigh turn shade into a soft moan. You thrill at the thought of what kind of lover Ignis would be with just a little practice under his belt, and a wicked grin spreads over your face. Why not start now? You turn your mouth to his shoulder and nuzzle adoringly into the tense flesh at the crook of his neck before opening your lips and sinking your teeth into him.

Immediately you sense the intentions inside Ignis shift. Chemicals already muddled and intense, a layer of feral need breaks open inside him and he lets a strangled growl into your shoulder, his back tensing and his next thrust redoubled. It rips a gasp from your mouth that you aren't fully expecting and sends a thrill through you. He shifts and presses his forehead to yours, his eyes eclipsed and face flushed. 

"You're...this is...divine." 

"I agree, Iggy, but don't lose that momentum." You smile fiendishly and roll your hips under him. The strength in his shoulders fails him and his eyes narrow, a growl bubbling in his throat as he lets his torso fall flush with yours again.

"Right," He says tightly, and covers your mouth with his as he grasps at your thigh over his hip and pushes into you again. You gasp against his mouth and half-purposefully dig your nails into his shoulder, and when this earns you a snarl and a firmer thrust, you _fully_ purposefully drag them down his back, leaving trails of raised skin. 

Minutes ago, Ignis was on his knees, crying out helplessly as you toyed with him, but you've been purposefully chipping away at his restraint since giving your consent, and it's at this moment, as your nails raise welts along his back as he’s buried inside you, that his demeanor changes color fully to something dark and ravenous. 

He shifts and slides an arm under the curve of your spine, half-lifting you from the bed and crushing your hips to him as his other hand clutches at your thigh, and you cry out as he pulls you onto him, his flesh unrelenting and insistent as he sets an uneven pace. He rests his forehead on the point of your shoulder and bites down just under your collarbone, tight moans devolving into growls against your skin. The thrill of witnessing Ignis come undone like this, the weeks of forced patience, the scent of him growing heady as it mixes with your own—it all compounds your own pleasure, and you let your other senses bleed together and build on the feeling of him inside you like you were made to fit together. 

You bare your neck to him and he doesn't hesitate to bite down on the soft skin of your throat, drawing a cry from you and inspiring your hips to roll to meet his next thrust. He lets out a choked snarl and his nails dig into your thigh, breaking his mouth from your neck and half-lifting his body from yours. Your eyes spin around the room for a beat as you realize he's pausing and fight to refocus your brain before finding Ignis' face, and Astrals, he's a sight. Sweat is gathering along his hairline by his temples and his hair is falling forward in steadily thicker segments. His high cheekbones are flushed clear across the bridge of his nose and his lips are kiss-reddened and parted around his breath. There's hardly any green in his eyes, replaced by a hungry, fiery inkiness that begs you to fill the void in him that you ouroborosly caused him to realize existed.

"I-Ignis?" You struggle for breath. 

"I want to feel you climax around me." He says darkly, evenly, voice nearly unrecognizable through all the lust save for his accent, and this alone knocks you another notch closer to said orgasm as your insides tense around his cock, pulling another strained growl from him. Your eyes flutter and you shyly shift under him to drape your leg over his shoulder. Ignis exhales sharply as your movements change the shape of your passage around him.

“This’ll help me,” You murmur, suddenly a little shy and finding it hard to meet his gaze. As you turn your head away, you unintentionally bare your neck, and he leans forward and kisses at your throat hungrily, pressing your knee into your shoulder between your bodies. The weight of him on your thigh draws a groan from your mouth, and he slides his hands around your hips, pulling you closer to his own and causing your groan to mutate quickly into a sharp cry. It’s tame, but still more than you had expected Ignis to want for your first time. You’ve made the mistake of underestimating him, it seems, and the realization that the ball might be in his court makes him suddenly doubly mysterious and sexy.

You clutch onto him needfully as he sets a pace once more, less halting and uncertain in his movements this time, and your short, high-pitched moans pour into his mouth as he captures your lips in a kiss. Your attention focused on the way your insides stretch and envelop the piece of him inside you, you hardly notice him wriggling a hand between your bodies until his fingertips press and rub over your clit. Your body jolts under him, your soft moans pitching into a loud cry against his mouth, and he presses down into the kiss hungrily, devouring your cries with a tense growl of his own, punctuating the sounds with a sharp thrust and earning another salacious cry of pleasure from you.

Your hand fists into the sheet at your side, the other threading tightly into his hair and pulling his mouth almost painfully hard against your own, kisses having devolved into intermittent bites and tongues pressed against teeth. Ignis’ touches to your core are sinful and delicious, especially coupled with the strength of his thrusts into you, but the familiar sensation of your insides coiling and tensing is still periphery. You nip at his lip and pull against his hair, breathlessly trying to speak. He moans at the twin pains, but regardlessly slows his movements and meets your eyes with his hungrily blackened ones.

“Here, let me…” You murmur softly, untwining your fingers from the sheets at your hip and shyly covering the back of his hand at your core. Even clouded with lust and wild with need, it's not hard to read the hesitance in his expression. You reach up with your other hand and smooth the crease between his brows, lowering your pitch and letting your love for him lace your words of reassurance. 

"Let me come for you," You murmur, and you're rewarded with the whole of Ignis' body shuddering, his mouth parting helplessly around a rough gasp as he presses his forehead to yours and lets you replace his hand at your core with your own. He runs his fingers up your side and hitches you again higher in his grip, resuming his pace and crushing a kiss onto your mouth, muffling your small whimpers. 

With your knee hooked over his shoulder, he can plunge deeper into you and stoke the fire in your core hotter, and the sensation isn't lost on him as your insides begin to pulse and constrict after every sharp thrust and feral growl and insistent bite at your neck, your fingers working between your thighs to push you faster to the edge for him. His growling moans begin to devolve as your walls flutter and pull at him, and it's with a sharp tone and clear words he pushes you to your peak, blackened eyes trained like a predator on yours:

"Won't you cry out my name, love?” And he noses your chin up to sink his teeth into the crook of your neck. 

A wave of pleasure breaks over you and you arch under him, happy to acquiesce. Hearing his name in a desperate song in his ear, his bite on your neck becomes what you're sure is bruising, but you hardly notice the pain as your insides pulse and waver and the blood leaves your extremities. You fist a hand into his flesh, clawing at the skin of his shoulder blades as he carries his pace, though stutteringly, through your climax.

His own vocalizations are tense and unevenly pitched, and you manage to focus your vision on his expression as the peak of your orgasm tips into sustained euphoria. His face is composed in an indulgent arrangement you've never seen, eyes fluttering and teeth bared, battling between losing himself in his senses and extending the present sensations another moment. It's a sinful sight, and that alone causes an aftershock to pulse through you and your passage to spasm and contract around him again. Dizzy and letting his thrusts carry your orgasm further, it’s all you can do to dig your nails into his backside and yank him harder into you.

“Need…need…” You incoherently gasp, volume wavering as your breath fails you. Ignis’ back tenses and a feral growl chokes him as he lowers his forehead to press against yours and pushes deep into you, crushing your thigh between your bodies and tearing a whine from your spent voice.

“Need?” He teases, but there’s no smugness or levity in his tone, only a dark and raw ferocity that pierces you as surely as his cock.

You try to answer, to give him the words he wants to hear, but all you can manage is,

“Please, Ignis—”

It’s all you can give him, but it’s all he needs. You’re graced with the spectacle of Ignis’ eyes rolling closed behind his lids as his teeth clench, hair ruined and skin a mess of bites and welts. His fingers dig hard into your hips, and a stuttering in his pace marks the tipping point as, in what’s far from a kiss, he crushes his mouth over yours and pours all he has to give into you.

 

 

_“I don’t believe I’ve ever thanked you.”_

 

_“For what?”_

 

_“Well, you thanked me for making room in my life for you, though you know how I feel about the specifics of that sentiment. The reverse should be just as true.”_

 

_“I mean, I guess you’re not wrong, but I wouldn’t really ask you to thank me, exactly”_

 

_“I’ll save it then. When would be the most romantic moment to voice my gratitude for all your time spent on me? What would earn me the most points, as it were?”_

 

_“You’re such a nerd.”_

 

 

There are several moments where neither of you move, apart from drawing shuddering breaths and clutching weakly to each other, senses muddled and skin beginning to sting in places. Ignis presses his mouth to your neck and sighs around the kiss he plants there before hesitantly shifting his weight and allowing you some room to shyly slide your leg from its place hooked over his shoulder. You wince just a little as you’re made aware of the stiffness in your hip, and Ignis uses your moment of rearranging limbs to carefully unsheathe himself from you. The sensation of suddenly being left empty makes you groan, and when you think he’s moving to leave the bed, you’re about to protest, but your words escape your breath in a huff as Ignis collapses on top of you and slides his arms around your waist, pulling you flush with him and lifting the curve of your spine off the bed.

You can’t help giggling, what with the chemicals whirling full tilt through your blood and the sudden unexpected affection Ignis is displaying. The sweat causes your skin to stick together and you’re beginning to realize how thirsty you are, but Ignis pulls you closer still, turning to his side and pulling you along with him. Your yelp of surprise dissolves into another bout of giggling, and you’re about to ask him what he’s doing when you meet his eyes properly since your twin climaxes.

You’re just…left breathless. He’s a mess, really. His hair is stuck to his forehead in places and you can see several circular bruises forming on his shoulders and neck. His skin is highlighted by the sheen of your mixed sweat in the grey, stormy light through his window, and trails of welts and half-moons crisscross over the skin of his ribs, his hips, his back. But…the softness in his features…you’ve never seen the light in his eyes quite like this, his expression—

“Thank you, my love.” He murmurs. Your heart throbs suddenly and your lips part around the sensation, recalling all at once your words to Sirius just before all-but running to meet Ignis here. “Can I offer you a shower?” He continues, voice still a little lilting from the high of intimacy.

“O-Oh,” You’re knocked from your thoughts. “…Maybe in a minute. I uh,” You bury your face under his chin and loop your arms more tightly at his middle. “I just want more of this, right now.”

“Good, so do I.” He presses his lips into your hair. “Stay with me tonight,” He murmurs, more an entreaty than a question. You smile into his collarbones.

“Do you still have my overnight bag?”

“Of course.”

“There’s nothing to stop me, then.”

He shifts and nudges your chin up to meet his gaze, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips. Both your mouths are reddened and slightly swollen from the shared nips and crushing kisses, so the stark contrast of Ignis’ delicate touch against your sensitive lips floods your insides once more with apprehension for your confession.

"We've made a mess," He chuckles, "I'll have to change the sheets."

Your insides twist a little inexplicably at this, and you inhale to protest before you can stop yourself. Despite aborting the sentence, Ignis picks up on your hesitance. 

"What is it?"

"It's just..." You squirm a little, a flush rising in your face and causing the cooling sweat on your cheeks to become clammy. Tell him. Tell him, come on. "I guess…it feels like, if that's the first thing we do, it kind of makes me worried I'll wake up."

He smiles softly and interlaces the fingers of one hand with yours, squeezing to prove his tangibility. 

"I assure you, you've nothing to fear. But if you feel that way, I suppose, well..." He traces lazy circles on your hip and brushes the tip of his nose to yours. "I may come to you for another tryst before the night is over, so I suppose I could leave the bed in this state for a bit." He hums against your lips. You chuckle and hold him closer to you. 

"I wouldn't say no." 

"Does that mean I'm to understand that I perform to your standards?" He grins, somewhere between smug and bashful. You smile softly. 

"You did do some stuff I wasn't expecting, yeah. Don't let it go to your head, though." 

"I would never." The bashfulness flakes away and his expression is left wholly self-satisfied, if in a tongue-in-cheek way. You roll your eyes lovingly and move to shift from his arms, but his hands linger on your wrist, keeping you close as you sit up.

"Now you've got me worried. You won't disappear once you leave the bed?" He asks, and your heart melts at the romance of it.

"Don't worry, Iggy. I'm not a dream."

"Don't sell yourself short, my love." 

Your heart throbs again, serotonin pushing further the love you feel in the moment. Ignis traces a circle on the back of your hand with his thumb before releasing his grasp and sitting up, planting a soft kiss on the back of your neck. It's so genuine a gesture you could cry, and indeed your throat tightens a little. Suddenly you're struck with why it's being difficult to confess to Ignis.

You're sure you don't have anything to worry about, but the phantom of old fears still haunts the chambers in your heart. You play with your fingers as Ignis circles an arm around your waist and pulls your back flush with his front. You're fine, it's fine, more than fine, but...it's still hard. The fear of losing what you have in taking the next step is real, founded or not. 

"Are you hungry?" He murmurs into your shoulder, and the vibrations of his voice against your skin cause your throat to tighten further. 

"More thirsty," You say after clearing your throat. "But I could eat." 

“Well, I’m right here," You can feel his fiendish grin against your shoulder and you giggle.

"That's some pretty dirty talk for you," You reach over your shoulder and run your fingers through his hair, brushing strands from his forehead. “Have I ruined you for bedside manners?”

“That remains to be seen. A few more rounds should give us an idea.” You laugh as he softly bites at your shoulder. “For now, let’s get you some water.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for the serious chapter notes: I am so blown away by the patience you guys have exhibited. Thank you all so much for understanding and even checking in on me to ask how work has been treating me. I don't deserve you guys and I hope this chapter met your expectations <3 Don't worry, there's still AT LEAST four more chapters of part one, followed immediately by the first chapter of part two, which I am SO EXCITED to share with everyone. As always, thank you for your readership!!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To lay it all out, this one is short because this is only the first half of what I intended to be chapter 20...which isn't finished yet. I decided to split it into two because I can't stand the thought of keeping all you lovely readers waiting longer than I already have. Chapter 21 will likely be short as well--it seems I keep finding ways to extend this fic, lol. Please enjoy!

It had only been mid-morning when Sirius had swooped in like an angel and you had stormed Ignis' home, so you find yourself suddenly with more time to spend with him than you've had in recent memory. Given the circumstances, it's actually a little jarring. You kind of front-loaded your day with him...what do you do with the rest of it? You both are covered in marks and various body fluids, feeling drained and ready for a nap, but it's barely lunch time and the day beckons you to be suddenly domestic with Ignis. It's a shift that you're unprepared for, like you're stepping into a routine you haven't yet set as he pulls his boxers back on for modesty's sake and offers to make something to eat while you shower. 

"Unless you'd prefer my company there?" He flirts, natural as anything. Your heart throbs.

"We have the whole day to be close...plus I'm pretty hungry." You confess. He nods and with a soft smile offers a hand to help you off the bed. He pulls you to him as you stand and you're struck again by how the relationship has changed so intensely over the course of a morning as he loops his arms around your bare torso and buries his nose in the crook of your neck with a contented sigh. The sound makes you feel safe. 

 

You dig through your overnight bag for your toiletries and spend a moment figuring out how to turn the shower on. The tiles are a sterile black and a sheet of glass separates you from the vanity-like mirror over the sink as you begin to rinse off. You let your eyes wander as you absentmindedly scrub at your skin and glance over the contents stacked neatly on the countertop, spotting his various shaving implements. 

This brings an unexpected flutter to your stomach once more. Of course he shaves, doubtlessly daily with the sharpness of his jaw he maintains, but the difference between how familiar you are with the product and with the process reflects again the sudden plunge you've taken into the new world this next phase of the relationship opens up. You've seen him clean-shaven, you've seen him ready to present himself, the product of his efforts—but never the process. Ignis with his face lathered, or even moreso, Ignis with morning stubble is a new, unexplored kind of intimacy, vulnerability...and that goes double for you. You wonder if that's the real reason you'd chosen to shower alone...maybe to maintain your mystique a little longer. You somehow doubt scrubbing cum off your thighs is as alluring to watch as getting it there. 

 

You pause again after drying off and shuffling through your bag for clothes to pull on. _Do_  you put on clothes? If you come out of the bathroom fully dressed like you would have had you _not_ just had sex, had you _not_ just messily toppled this divide between dating and sleeping together, is that fine? Would it just hang a lampshade on it? What have you done in the past after being intimate with someone for the first time? You chew your lip, trying to figure out what's making you feel this way. 

You settle on leaving your pants off, a button-down blouse resting at your hips and your underwear peeking out from under it as you shyly slip from the bathroom. As you enter the main area you smell pancakes and a little of your nervousness is sloughed off by design. Ignis glances up at you over his stove and you see his eyes flick over your bared legs. You give him a once-over too: having similarly foregone his shirt, he's fixing a late breakfast in nothing but his glasses, his necklace, and the pair of slacks he'd pulled back on. It's a good look and it makes you hungrier, physically and chemically. 

There's a pancake plated and waiting for you as you approach the counter and give Ignis a shy smile. He responds in kind and asks,

"I confess, being more than half-dressed for the rest of the day isn't an idea I leap at. Do you want to spend the day in?"

Oh thank the Six, he's taking the reins. Your anxiousness subsides a little. 

"That sounds great, Iggy. The storm makes it hard to do anything else, too." You glance out the large window as you say this, the city below completely obscured in a grey blanket of rain, making the drop seem more precipitous than usual. "Have anything in mind?"

"I was going to go pick up some things to restock my pantry, but it's nothing that can't wait until tomorrow," He says, plating his stack of pancakes as you segment off a section of your own and sigh happily around the comfort food. "In fact, this presents an interesting opportunity," He continues, circling the counter to sit next to you. 

"Hm?" You hum for him to continue, your mouth full of pancake as you reach for the butter bell he's arranged with the rest of the breakfast accoutrement. 

"I've been meaning to try some new recipes; would you be interested in taste testing for me?"

You're sure your face literally glows as your expression lights up, and you swallow your mouthful of pancake to reply with a fast and eager "YES." 

 

Ignis excuses himself to go shower after you've thoroughly exhausted the pancake stack he's made for you. His quick kiss as he stands to make his way to the bedroom tastes like syrup. You watch him make his way down the hall, eyeing the patchwork of crisscrossing scratches you've left in his skin along his back. 

"Ignis?" You suddenly chirp, almost unbidden. He turns, and you outstretch both your arms to him. A grin breaks lovingly over his features and he paces back to you. You take his shoulder and gently pull, asking him to turn, and he does so after a beat, baring his welted back, bloody in a few tiny places. You rest your forehead between his shoulder blades and gently press your lips to the reddened skin. You feel him melt a little, and the exhale he breathes is soft and lilting. 

"The price of my pleasure," He says softly, and you can hear his grin through his voice. "One I'll eagerly and repeatedly pay, should you have me again." His words make you press your knees together, your pulse pitching suddenly. 

"We should disinfect these before adding more," You hum, running your hands tenderly down his spine. It makes him shiver. 

"You don't have anything that requires such attention, do you?" He asks, turning to meet your gaze over his shoulder. "I should have asked as soon as you finished showering, forgive me." 

“Nothing to forgive, Iggy. I think I'm all good, anyway. Just some hickeys I'll need to cover." You grin at the flush that rises in his cheeks at this. 

 

Ignis showers and returns to the living area in a pair of clean, dark jeans, his hair still damp and swept across his forehead. You grin; you like this look on him. He joins you on the couch and you indulge yourself a little, drawing your legs up onto the cushion with you and nuzzling into his side. You realize now that the cloves you smell on him must be from his body wash, as the rest of his cocktail of scents is overpowered by the cutting clean spice. You almost purr and you hear him chuckle a little as he affectionately rests his hand on your head. 

"The scratches don't warrant a potion...at least as they are," Ignis hums, pulling a small bottle of disinfectant and a cotton swab into your line of sight. "Would you?"

"Of course," You say, taking the supplies and making a motion with your other hand, indicating for him to turn. You gingerly swab at the places along the raised skin where your nails had broken through, however shallowly. "At what point do you plan on using a potion?" You amusedly ask as you continue, and you hear him hum a little.

"One step at a time." Is all he gives you as an answer, the back of his neck reddening in a blush. 

 

Having just had breakfast, you and Ignis fill a little time before he takes to the kitchen again to concoct food for you to try. You're struck again at the way you've suddenly been thrust into a domestic setting with him as the two of you lounge half-dressed together on the couch, Ignis making notations in his agenda book (he's never truly off-the-clock) and you curled into his side. It's nice to relax together, even if there's this tension you're imagining pulling at your guts once every few minutes. You ponder what would help you relax in similar situations, and upon coming to the answer, you're met with a question.

"How come you don't have any pets?" You ask, glancing up to his features from your spot under his chin. 

"I don't care for the clean-up," He says readily. "I've got a prince who supplies more than enough mess for me to rectify." You giggle at this. 

"You don't want for the company, though? To help you relax?"

"I'm in the most relaxing company imaginable." He says lovingly, squeezing you softly into his side. You melt, your guts ceasing their twisting for the time being. You shift on the couch and shuffle through your bag for a moment, pulling out your phone.

"I want to do something dumb." You say, selecting your front-facing camera. "I don't have any photos of us." 

Without hesitating, Ignis loops his arms around you and pulls you close to him under his chin. You blush and hold your phone at arm's length, fitting the two of your faces together in the frame. As you move your finger to snap the photo, Ignis rests his cheek in your hair. You blush at the photographic proof of Ignis affectionately close to you as the picture blips back onto the screen for your approval. You bury your face in your free hand. 

"You dumb romantic nerd." You happily muffle. You glance through your fingers to see Ignis grinning slyly, satisfied with the results of his slick move. You save the photo. 

 

You watch Ignis drizzle olive oil into a pan, seated across from him at the counter with your chin resting on your crossed arms. Ignis has cooked for you many times in the past, so the occasional pangs in your stomach have mostly subsided, though if the two of you do something new and particularly homey the nervousness will doubtlessly return. You're taking this moment of comfortable silence and return to familiarity to try and sort out what the hell these intrusive flashes of anxiety are all about. 

Certainly it's not regret, no, in fact you're hoping Ignis will follow up on his hint at another round before nightfall. Maybe there's a touch of shyness at the new way the two of you know each other, but nothing that should feel so sharp and concentrated. It can't be fear. It's anxiety, sure, but nothing like fear. Guilt? Guilt for what? 

“Here you are, darling," Ignis' voice causes you to surface as he gently slides a small plate in front of you. The small cut of fish is glistening and smells like butter and salt. Your mouth immediately begins to water and you flash Ignis an appreciative smile. 

"What am I grading you on?" You tease, picking up your fork, but Ignis replies in earnest. 

"Texture, flavor, aroma, presentation, that sort of thing."

"You know, I'm not _that_  great with picking out what could be better with your cooking," You say, bringing half the small serving of fish to your mouth in one bite. "It's all the best food I've ever had."

Ignis smiles broadly around a soft chuckle and his eyes flick to the ground in a rare display of shyness, a blush highlighting his features. 

"You're too good to me, my love."

You stop chewing at the word, apprehension flooding your stomach. Oh. So it _is_ guilt. Guilt for not telling him. You resume your chewing. 

You've just finished being about as vulnerable as a woman can be, so the idea of stacking on top of that yet another way to lay yourself bare makes your heart pick up time. The new facets of the relationship are bringing up opportunity after opportunity to tell him, and reminder after reminder that you're being irrationally nervous about confessing to him, all clustered together in the space of the last few hours. It's frustrating and overwhelming.

"Darling?" 

You blink, realizing you've finished the small serving of barramundi Ignis had prepared for you and have been staring at your empty plate.

"Sorry, it's really good," You grin, slipping quickly away from your turbulent self-chastisement. "I wasn't kidding, I don't really know how to make it better."

"We can leave it as is, then." He smiles softly, but you see his brows peak and know he suspects something, but is choosing to leave it be for now. You sigh quietly, appreciatively, and ask what else he's working on. "You'll see," Is all he gives as a reply, a coy smile overtaking the brief concern in his features as he returns to the stovetop. 

 

Ignis tests a few more sample dishes on you, and you manage to give him a few suggestions, but mostly you just make appreciative sounds and ask if it's really the first time he's made all of these. He grins and marks notations down in his black recipe book as you speak. 

"I don't think I'll need dinner," You confess. "This is some good grazing we're doing." 

Ignis is silent for a beat and fidgets with his bangs, brushing them from his forehead. 

"Perhaps another kind of nighttime hunger will need addressing?" 

You glance over to him, helpless to resist the immediate way your body eagerly agrees with him. A hot blush is creeping over his features and down his neck as he gives you a coy, shy grin. You return his smile, tilting your head slyly. You may not be able to argue with the way your insides twist and shiver at his accent, how your heart picks up time at the way he weaves words together to ask for your body again as delicately, poetically as you could imagine...but he doesn't need to know that just yet. Your grin widens. 

"Perhaps," You tease with a shrug, fluttering your lashes at him. He swallows tensely. 

"Minx." 

"You love it." 

 

After Ignis exhausts the recipes he wants to try that he can make with what he's got stocked, he (reluctantly) lets you clean up some. You're at the sink rinsing leftover olive oil and herbs from the small stack of plates when you feel one of Ignis' hands at your hip from behind you. 

"Would you mind terribly if I gave Noct a respectable answer to his...inquiries about you?" He holds his phone over your other shoulder with a message bubble open on the screen. You glance over the text. 

 

 

_"Iggy, dangling this over Prompto has been funny, but can I talk about your secret girlfriend now? He's been bugging me and like, A) I don't even know that much, and B) for once I'm actually getting curious too."_

_"He's threatening to come over there and hold your spice rack hostage."_

_"Or check you for a pulse. He's convinced you're an MT imposter if you're dating someone."_

 

 

"Do your friends really think it's that shocking for you to have a girlfriend?" You say through your giggles.

"Apparently." 

"You can talk about me, sure, Iggy." You chuckle. 

"What I mean is, well...how much would you agree to me revealing?"

"Oh," Understanding what he's really asking, you chew your lip, blushing a little. "You think they'll ask?"

"Gladio will, if for no other reason than to ruffle my feathers. Not that I'm inclined to read my diary to him regardless, but it does bring up where you would have me draw the line." 

"I see," You smile shyly. "Even if I said sure, you'd never kiss and tell in detail, would you?" 

"Would you?" He says, leaning down and brushing his lips by your ear, sending shivers through you. 

"...Maybe. I don't brag usually but," You turn and glance over him pointedly, raising a brow. He grins.

"I'm flattered. I feel the same about you, if that influences your answer."

Your blush is hotter than you expect, and if not for the dish soap bubbles on your hands you'd have buried your face in them. 

"You can brag," You concede, fighting a grin as you rinse and dry your hands. Igins runs the tip of his nose along the shell of your ear as he murmurs, 

"Should they ask, I'll only confirm that today's lovely encounter happened. Though I'm inclined to add to the list of details I'll omit."

He presses his lips to the space behind your ear and you shudder. 

"Are you seducing me?" You chuckle breathlessly.

"Am I?" He grazes his teeth across your lobe.

"I didn't pin you for the insatiable type," You banter back, if a little wavering. He pockets his phone and slips his hand around your other hip, running his thumbs along the seams of your underwear. 

"We're learning all sorts of things about me together, my dear." He presses his fingers into the curve of your hips just a little and closes the small distance between his front and your back, and you feel the undeniable bulge in his jeans push against your spine. You let out a feverish giggle, the back of your neck reddening in a hot flush. 

"Don't get overconfident, stud," 

"You malign me. I'm simply eager to test more ideas with you, if in a different setting and to satiate another kind of hunger." 

Your knees wobble helplessly. 

"I-I did say I wouldn't say no...nothing's changed." 

Ignis' voice pitches low in your ear, vibrating through your mind, his breath hot on your neck as he replies,

"I'm so very glad to hear that," And he scoops you into his arms without a second of hesitation, carrying you from the kitchen back to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tender vanilla aftercare cures my depression .u.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! The second half of chapter 20!...chapter 21. Please enjoy, as the story after this gets r e a l

It doesn't quite feel routine or seamless—as any first time would—when several hours later you slip under the clean comforter next to Ignis, but your nerves and fear of awkwardness are a distant second to the contentedness welling in your chest as you wind your arm around his bare waist and rest your cheek at his shoulder. He pulls you closer into his side, and you think you see a flush cross his features. 

"The last time I slept in the same bed with another was as a child when Noct would have a nightmare." He exhales a soft laugh through his nose. “I've missed this, I think."

"Are you a cuddler?"

"I imagine I would be with you," He shifts and brushes his lips to your forehead. "I have the opportunity to hold you for hours, I can't think of why I would decline to do so." 

"Romantic dork." You blush and press a kiss to his mouth, coupled with a warm sigh. You break the kiss only slightly to confess, "I don't want to sleep. I'd rather stay up with you." 

"I feel the same, love," His eyes darken a little mischievously, and the next breath he draws to speak is through a smirk. "But we can't very well use our morning to its fullest if we don't wake up early, can we?" 

You feel your insides weaken, paired with frustration sparking through your watery will like a current of electricity. 

"Don't tease me."

"My words are innocent enough, I'm sure I don't know what you mean." He grins—knowing full well, the bastard—as he draws you in close to his side. You pout, but snuggle into his embrace without any protest. His skin is soft, but ridged with intermittent welts and bites, and the scent of rubbing alcohol lingers on him. You trace a finger over a streak of red skin your nails left, following the indent of his shoulder, giving the musculature a flushed contour. 

"You never answered my question about when you'd use a potion for these,"

You feel his heart skip a beat through your forearm draped across his chest at your words. He swallows before answering.

"I, ah..." He chuckles tensely, equal parts a little nervously, a little bashfully, a little lustfully. "I could guess I'd opt to use a potion when the pain becomes a detraction from rather than an addition to the act and its aftermath, but I'm not sure at what degree I'll...cease to enjoy the feeling." 

You press your knees together under the sheets, needing a moment to find your voice. 

“I was surprised enough when we figured out you liked to let go of formality in the bedroom, but I didn't take you for the kind of guy to be into pain,"

"It's not that, exactly, I don't think. At least not wholly," Ignis chews his lip as he thinks, something you can't recall him ever doing in the past. When he responds he turns to his side and presses the length of his body against yours, wrapping his arms at your waist. "It's more that I have something, this feeling, experience, something new and foreign to me, and the usual ways I learn or know something aren't enough to slake my hunger for it. I desire to learn, and I crave you with a fierceness I can barely contain. I need more ways to feel alert and alive to take in all of you; I want more channels in my consciousness open for you to flood, and it seems the simplest way to achieve that is to add...perhaps a faux sense of danger, tap into that part of my mind and redesign it to heighten pleasure responses instead. But any pain I might feel is a distant second to the exultation it highlights. Not to mention, I enjoy having proof of our trysts. I like being branded as yours."

…You’re throbbing between your thighs. Breath shallow, you manage to whisper,

"Have I ever told you how much your voice turns me on?" 

Ignis' eyes darken, and he presses a little closer to you. 

"Don't tempt me, my dear." 

You flutter your lashes coyly at him and turn your hips, pushing the fabrics of your respective sleepwear together. You delight in watching his throat shift as he swallows. 

"What was it you needed to be up early for?" You murmur duskily. Ignis grins resignedly. 

"Breakfast."

"Liar."

"Breakfast, and...well, this." He covers your mouth with his, giving a soft moan of surrender and pushing harder against your abdomen the reignited arousal straining at his boxers. Thick as your desire for him is, your physical limitations are making themselves apparent as your insides throb with need, but a twinge of discomfort inharmoniously spikes through you. You break the kiss with a sigh,

“Ignis, I um…I know I just riled you up, but I don’t actually think I can handle any more.” You confess ruefully, then with a chuckle you add, “Unless you want to do oral.”

You hear Ignis swallow and you're suddenly _very_  shy, fluttering your eyes away from his passionately green ones as the bluntness of your joke melts away into nervous, heated tension.

"We could, if you'd want," He rasps, "You'd need to guide me, but...I liked what little I've tasted of you,"

His words burn in your abdomen and a groan slips from your throat, suddenly torn. You're admittedly reluctant to turn down oral, but this is another facet of new vulnerability you're hesitant to stack on top what you've already shown him today, successful first times or no. His cock between your thighs is somehow less scary than his face there—but on the other hand...his face perched at your navel, eyes uncovered and wavering between caution and lust, hair down and bruises along his neck blooming in full…you’re hard-pressed to say the visual of all that dipping below the curve of your abdomen doesn't make your insides shiver insistently. You slowly thread your fingers through his hair, heart racing, fingers trailing down his stomach to tease lightly over the protrusion in his boxers, earning you a shudder as you ask,

“And what about you?”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to reciprocate, but…” His flush deepens, and you feel him rotate his hips just a little, pushing his erection into your palm, his tone dipping darker as he finishes: “I wouldn’t say no. Ever.”

You giggle, gathering a little more courage to ask,

"...You're not overwhelmed at that much new stuff crammed into one day?"

"Hardly." He says readily, evenly. Your legs fidget under the sheets as he continues, "You've been so patient with me. If you'll allow me, if you'll forgive the learning curve, I'll shy at nothing you would ask of me tonight." 

Unadulterated love fills your heart to bursting, and you let it color your expression as you meet Ignis' gaze, twin hungers kept at bay by the moment of honesty shared. 

"Come here," You tug lightly on his hair, "let me kiss you." Your cup his jaw with both hands and pull his mouth over yours, sighing happily, nearly to the point of tears.

"We didn't text nearly as much about oral." You grin shyly, pulling slightly from the kiss. "I've got more of a puzzle than you do. You're sure you want to risk knocking down your batting average so soon?" 

Ignis' expression shifts toward bashfulness, and his eyes flick to the side, a hot blush highlighting his features. 

"I, ah...I won't claim that I won't likely need some direction for you specifically, but…I might have looked into...guides."

"You looked up how to eat pussy?" You can't help but giggle as Ignis' blush spreads down his neck and clear over his shoulders, but you’re surprised when he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

"I want to please you," He muffles into your collarbone, pitch laced with just a little chagrin. You soften and touch your hand to his heated cheek, asking him to look up at you. 

"You're such a nerd," You grin, "But I appreciate the lengths you're going to, Iggy, I really do. I shouldn't have laughed." 

He lets a tense chuckle through his nose and glances shyly at you, leaning into your palm.

"No offense taken. I know it's not the most romantic approach to such matters, but it’s the only way I know.” 

"No, actually," You brush the tip of your nose to his, lowering your tone to a hum and fluttering your lashes. "I think it’s _so_ sexy, Ignis." You smile inwardly as you watch his eyes darken at this. You kiss his lower lip softly and murmur, "Do you want to see if your studying pays off here like it did earlier today?"

Ignis swallows shallowly and turns his face slightly to nip at your palm, murmuring smoothly,

"I suppose there's only one way to find out. You'll tell me if I can do better?"

"If it comes to it," You run your thumb over his lower lip and he chases after it with his teeth, grazing the skin there and making your insides shudder hotly. "You're going to keep a lady waiting?" You tease, drawing a sly grin from him and hopefully alleviating any rekindled nervousness he's experiencing. You watch his eyes as they darken further and flutter south as you kick the bedding away. 

"Never," He rasps, teasing his fingers along the hem of your underwear. You tilt your hips and cover the back of his hand with your own, encouraging him to curl his fingers around the fabric and drag it down your thighs. He needs to sit up from over you to fully pull them off, and despite your obvious and tangible desire for him to proceed, you can't help the shyness that needles you as he stands on his knees over you, your legs up and bent as he finishes removing your underwear. Everything is on display in an almost pornographic manner from where he sees you as he shifts his weight from the bed and takes up position on the floor on his knees, discarding your underwear next to him and running his hands down your legs as he settles between them. 

Ignis traces his thumbs in small, soothing motions on your inner thighs, and the hot flush in your face subsides a little, at least for a moment, but it's reignited in an instant when you feel him lift a palm from your thigh and softly press his thumb over your clit. Immediately a whine bubbles up in your mouth, and the sound pushes Ignis to rub a single, cruelly slow circle into you.

“Should I—” He needs to clear his throat before continuing: “Should I refrain from…that is, where are you sore?”

You can’t help the adrenal giggle that rides the tail of the moan he pulled from you.

“I’ll let you know if you get me hot enough to add some fingers.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” He chuckles, letting some tension from his body in the breath, then drawing another he slowly asks, “May I?”

“Gods, you’ll never cease to just sweep me off my feet, will you?”

“I would hope not."

You’re still grinning from his banter when Ignis' hair brushes up against the skin bound over your pelvis and his tongue dips into the tissue slicked for him. Nerves and anticipation give a final, stubborn twist in your guts before your legs finally relax, a sigh coupled with a soft moan leaving your lips and your eyes fluttering closed as you gently thread your fingers of one hand into his hair. 

Ignis drags his palms over your thighs and loops his arms under your legs, resting his hands at your hips and pressing his fingertips into the flesh there, nudging up the hem of the sleep shirt you still wear. You swallow shallowly and murmur,

“Do you want me naked?”

The hungry hum this elicits from Ignis vibrates teasingly against your core and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you as your hips roll in his grip. In kind, Ignis digs his nails into you and holds you steady, pushing his tongue harder against your clit but keeping his lapping modest.

“I-Is that a yes?” You chuckle breathlessly, and Ignis draws a punctuating moan from you as he pulls slightly away to speak, eyes piercing and dark as he says,

“Only if I can keep going,” Your guts shiver helplessly and without any further discussion Ignis dives back between your thighs, the shift from subtle probing to confident onslaught choking a startled gasp from you. You feel his lips curl into a grin at the sound. You fumble at the hem of your sleep shirt and clumsily try to remove it, but you can’t sit up enough with Ignis how he is to pull it off over your head. Beginning to think he smugly designed the condition to be left unmet, you defiantly dig your heels into his back and force some leverage out of his body, lifting your torso enough for you to yank your shirt off, but in doing so…you unintentionally stuff his face harder into your core.

Ignis rears forward, and whether or not he knows you didn’t quite mean to do that matters jack all, because Gods…he rises to meet the challenge. A groan rips from his throat with nowhere to go, smothered in you, and the sudden inability to breathe sparks in him again that lustful wildness; you watch it happen in the black of his eyes, by the crease in his brows and the blood through his skin, you watch his structure crack and give and burst and in a heightened heartbeat he’s again that man starved—and by the Six, he’ll eat to live.

He buries a snarl into your core and the volume and fierceness and hint of teeth shock a cry from you, and coupled with his suddenly stinging grip on your hips he pulls back enough to steal a breath, but wastes no time before pushing the narrow tip of his tongue into your passage with a ravenous exultation. Legs already shaking, you’re no match when he drags you by the hips closer to the edge of the bed, nearly throwing the full weight of your legs over his shoulders and pushing his tongue as deep as he can into you, doubtless tasting traces of your trysts not hours before. His teeth push your clit against the soft bow in his lip, and the convergence of sensations on such a small part of you wrings an unbidden jolt from your body, and your throat tightens in a sharp, shrill cry.

In an instant, Ignis’ bruising grip on you vanishes, and as he pulls back the loss of all of his mouth on you drags a whine from you. Your eyes spin around the room and you try to collect your breath enough to ask why he stopped, but you aren’t afforded the time before he speaks first.

“Did I hurt you?” The timbre in his voice is nigh unexplainable, low and thick and rough with lust, but pierced by the high pitch of concern, bordering on fear. It takes all of your willpower to lift your head and meet his gaze, and Gods he’s a sight, eyes black and face flushed, lips dark and swollen and shining with a twin gloss from both your bodies. He’s beautiful, he’s _yours…_

“…Darling?” His voice drags you from your reverent stupor. You’re staring. Did he ask you a question?

“Wh…?”

Ignis wavers.

“I thought for a moment I’d hurt you, the sound you made…well, it’s increasingly clear my worry was unfounded and I should have let your reaction spur me on rather than—”

“Do that again, Iggy.” Your voice is weak, your legs are wracked with tremors resting over his shoulders. Every moment his mouth isn’t on your core drives you closer to desperate tears. “With your teeth…and your lips…please?”

He swallows, then shyly murmurs,

“…I was just guessing with that.”

“Ignis, _please_ ,” You plead, and you watch hunger curl in his guts as you beg him for more. He clears his throat and draws a slow breath to murmur,

“…May I try something?”

“An-Anything,” You nearly sob, and at this the last dregs of reservedness rekindled in his demeanor are abandoned as in a single movement he fastens his grip around your hips and stands, hauling your lower body with ease against his chest as he kneels on the bed, draping your shoulders over his thighs and letting your head rest between his knees. You have never been manhandled so gently, thoughtfully, and through the blurry fog of being turned on so hard it hurts, love shines like a beacon, a lighthouse at the shore on the other side of this earth-shattering sex.

Ignis buries his tongue into you again and the blood leaves your extremities, polarized between the gravity toward your head and the nerves at your core, neither winning out as your hands fist into the sheets at his ankles, upside down in his grip and at his mercy. The lighthouse turns and illuminates some other shore, and you willingly lose yourself again in the fog. Your legs stretch out over his shoulders, muscles acting of their own volition as you twist in his arms, individual cries bleeding together and losing power until all you can summon is a continuous string of desperate, helpless moans.

You feel Ignis hard against your spine, and your hands flutter around as you try to direct them towards his length to at least give some semblance of returning the favor, give him some small amount of relief, but it’s a hopeless endeavor; you’re just too disoriented, too deep in the bliss, and there’s no room for your hands between his hips and your back.

You settle with gripping into his back as best you can, fingernails digging into the dimples at his tailbone, and he groans hotly into you, pressing your clit between his teeth and his lip, and you let out a weak yelp when he reflexively grinds his bare cock along the ridges in your spine. Your eyes roll closed.

“C…cl…” The hard sound exhausts your words before they can form. Maybe a different one…“F-F-Fingers…”

Like a pro, Ignis slides his tongue out of your passage and over your clit, unhooking one arm from around your middle and wriggling it under your thigh to below his chin, pressing fingertips ravenously into you and snarling hungrily, pressing his cock harder between your bodies.

It doesn’t take long after that. Ignis’ arm still supporting you at your waist tightens like a vice as you writhe and keen, pleads and curses and “Ignis, Ignis,” falling from your mouth shamelessly, orderlessly, and as your climax crests and your vision blurs, your legs stretch out, straight and shaking over his shoulders as he champions through your orgasm without taking a breath, blissfully drowning in you.

You don’t know how much time passes before you need to beg him to stop.

He surfaces dizzily from your core, face a shining, flushed, sexy mess, eyes half-lidded as you slump and gasp for breath, limbs shaking and spasms still wracking you. You can’t get your eyes to focus or your mouth to work, all you can will your body to do is sink deeper against his and softly whine with each exhale.

You feel Ignis tense under you.

“…I, ah…I’ve…that is…”

His fragmented sentence draws you closer to full consciousness out of curiosity. You drunkenly lift your head to meet his gaze, and you find his expression mortified, somewhere between beet red and sheet white, leaving his high cheekbones an uneasy grey color.

“Ig…Ignis?”

He swallows and flutters his gaze away as he slips his hand between your bodies, and when he brings his hand back into your line of sight, his fingers are coated in cum.

“We…need yet another shower.” He can’t bring himself to look at you, but your spent, spent insides find a way to insistently shiver.

“Fuck, Ignis, that’s so hot.”

“…Beg pardon?” He chances a glance at you, surprised, maybe flirting with relieved.

“I didn't even touch your cock.”

“…I…thought that would be a problem?”

“Wait, Iggy,” You slide from his grip, doubtlessly wiping your cum-covered back all down his legs and across the recently-changed sheets. “We’re talking about this in the wrong order.” You right yourself on your knees in front of him and shove a formless kiss over his mouth. Ignis makes a small, surprised noise into the cavity of your mouth.

“Are we?” He dizzily asks, pulling slightly from the kiss.

“The first thing we need to talk about is how damn divine you are at giving head.”

His diaphragm flutters, and a hint of smugness ghosts at the corners of his mouth.

“I must have chosen the right tutorials to study.”

You giggle lightheadedly.

“But, anyway, no, it’s not a problem, Iggy. It’s hot that going down on me turns you on that much.”

His brows crease, color returning to his features.

“I thought perhaps…you might find it indicative of short performances more often than not.”

“You’ve disproven that twice already today, you dork. If anything, I’m flattered. Plus, I’m more than satisfied, Iggy.” You glance at him through your lashes. “Are you?”

He finally lets the tension from his limbs with an exhausted smile.

“Even if I weren’t, it’s getting late. Just this was more than enough.”

“Alright, Iggy.” You grin devilishly with the last of today’s libido. “Maybe the next time we’re together, I’ll let you make a mess on my back properly.”

You watch his throat tighten and you smirk, sliding smoothly off the soiled bed and sauntering toward the shower once more, satisfied in the knowledge that he’ll be eaten away by thoughts of taking you from behind.

“You’re cruel, darling,” He calls after you.

You respond by swaying your hips more as you walk, the slick on your back catching the light.

 

 

 

 

When you wake, an extra blanket has been laid over you, and as you sit up to find yourself alone in the bedroom, the scent of breakfast rolls into the space like a thick fog. Your stomach growls and your heart thrums and you shift from the soft bed to patter toward the kitchen, pulling the thin extra blanket from the comforter and draping it over you like a shawl. As you move down the hall, the circumstance of this particular first—of you and Ignis seeing each other first thing in the morning—twists in your stomach, and your steps falter a little. You didn't stop to check your face in the bathroom mirror, and doubtlessly it's puffy from sleep, your hair a mess. 

"Is that my girl?" You hear from the kitchen, and the casualness of his phrase makes your heart flutter, familiarity and intimacy seeming to lift a layer of pretense from the way he speaks with you. It sends a thrill through you that you can't quite name, but whatever your exact thoughts on the development of learning more about how Ignis behaves as he becomes more intimate with you (doubtless he too is learning all this as you are), the warmth in his words prompts you forward down the hall again, trying to put aside the sudden vulnerability you feel. 

Ignis is partially dressed already, and it makes sense to you that he's not one to make breakfast in his sleepwear. He's scrambling eggs delicately in a pan, wearing slacks and an undershirt, hair tousled adorably from sleep, and as you enter the kitchen he glances up, eyes bright through his lenses and a smile sown deep with affection spread across his features. Your heart flips. 

"Good morning," 

"Morning Iggy, this is really nice, thank you for breakfast," You circle the granite island and he sets down his spatula, meeting your embrace. 

"Of course," The kiss he presses to your mouth is soft and lazy, and you feel the roughness on his skin of a dusty blonde morning shadow your eyes can't quite pick up. The layer the sensation adds to his kiss is new but not unpleasant. He has coffee ready for you and you let him take up the task of breakfast again as you sit across from him and ask him what kind of day he has ahead of him between sips, a knot of apprehension slowly undoing itself in your guts as you relax into a new morning ritual with Ignis. 

 

You perch on the edge of the bed as you run a comb through your hair, shyly peering through the open bathroom door as Ignis rinses his face of remaining lather, towel draped around his shoulders. Dreamily you distantly think how, while toweling water from his jaw at the sink in an undershirt, he looks like a father. Your insides flip, and you simultaneously double-take yourself and feel like you need him again. A blush dusts your features as he steps from the bathroom, glancing over at you and giving you a small smirk, and you bite back the desire to blurt out the question of how he'd feel if you called him daddy. Your blush darkens. 

"Loath as I am to do so," He touches his hand to his throat, where evidence of your trysts blooms across his skin. "I think I'll need to heal these up today. I'll miss having the reminder, but there's a way I'm expected to present myself to the King and his council, and covered in bites isn't that." He grins a little wryly. You fidget, opening your mouth to apologize, but think better of it. The decorum called for in the throne room shouldn't give rise to any regret or shame between just the two of you. 

"We'll have to find time to leave more, then," You opt for instead, and you grin a little as he swallows and nods shallowly in agreement. 

"Care to help me choose my outfit for today?" He says, voice just a little rough. "If you've the time." 

 

Saying your goodbyes is a drawn-out affair. You're sure you'll see him soon, likely the next time you're on patrol, but you already miss him so intensely, and coupled with the fact that you're not sure when you two would have this much time together again makes the prospect of parting from him especially disagreeable. The last day and a half have been perfect. Thinking of watching him walk toward his responsibilities just as you must turn on your heel and walk toward your own feels like a rope pulled taught around your hearts, only constricting more as the distance between you increases. 

Your hands are tightly intertwined as you descend the elevator to the ground floor together, and your throat tightens as the doors smoothly slide open. No, are you really going to cry? Wh—

"Thank you for the past hours, love." Ignis' voice pierces through your swirling thoughts, and you gratefully exhale the breath that's been shuddering shallowly in your diaphragm. "I think they're among the most enjoyable in my life. Do, ah..." 

It's his turn to fidget nervously as you face each other at the foot of the elevator, and for some reason, you're incredulous that he's feeling as torn up about parting ways until an unforeseen next time as you are. 

"Do you...feel the same?" He finishes, flicking his gaze around for a moment before meeting yours once more, a nervous blush on his cheekbones. Your heart melts, and with it most of your anxiousness. 

"I'm not going to lie, I'm sort of holding back tears at the thought of leaving. So I think that's a yes."

"Oh, darling, don't cry," Ignis nuzzles his lips into your hair after a flicker of relief crosses his features. Relief and something warmer, softer. Your heartbeat settles against his. 

"I won't," You chuckle, even as you sniffle a bit, forehead pressed to his shirt. "You'll let me know as soon as you find out when your next bit of freedom is?" Ignis breathes a short laugh of wry agreement with your sentiment. 

"Of course I will. Do you want to arrange for introductions to the 'boy band' when I do?" Your eyes flutter helplessly, darkly, longing mixed with lust and mercurially swirled with reluctance.

"...I think I just want more of you all to myself." 

There's a hitch in Ignis' breathing and you feel his embrace around you tighten just a little. 

"...Minx." 

"Incubus." 

"After only my first foray? You flatter me." But there's an endearing, smug edge to his voice. You snort and the moment of humor is enough to allow for a fairly graceful parting. You say goodbye one more time and as you turn toward the Glaive wing your fingertips slide past each other until your arms won't allow for contact to remain with any more distance between you. Your throat tightens a little again as your hand falls to your side as you begin pacing toward your morning shift, but there's enough buoyancy in your chest to keep your steps light. The bruises under your collar sting a little at the friction of your heavy clothing, but like hell you'll use a potion to erase them from your skin. 

 

 

You spot Sirius in the locker room before training and wordlessly make a bee line toward her to embrace her. She pats your head with a grin. 

"I'll take a shift off your hands if you want." You offer.

"Just buy me a drink next time we're at Constellation, Senpai.” 

"I'll buy all your drinks the next time we're at Constellation." 

"If you insist," She giggles. "Think I have a talent for this?"

"You are the best wingwoman anyone could ever hope to have." 

"Return me the favor sometime." 

"I'll pale in comparison, but I'll do my best." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not going to lie y'all, this took me a long time to finish mostly because square enix broke my heart with that DLC cancellation. This was almost done, but for a hot minute I just couldn't bring myself to write anything FFXV-related. I feel pretty betrayed, and am still heartbroken about it, and it took the wind out of my sails for a second there. I thought, if my heart isn't in it, is that what I should be giving my readers? But I love you guys, and I love this fic, and I love Ignis, and even if square isn't there for me, y'all are, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading <3


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give to you the single sexiest thing I've ever written; a gift for the patient readers. I have some time coming up to write, so expect more soon! You're all the best, I love you, please enjoy!  
> UPDATE: I completely forgot to include a scene I intended to share! Please revisit the end of this chapter, as I tie up a loose end.

The next weeks register less as weeks and more as strings of days punctuated by the time you find to spend with Ignis. Despite both your schedules remaining strenuous andconcentrated, your April is the best one you can remember.

May first brings a lasting change in the weather, spring is in full swing, and finally you can dig through to the back of your closet and bring out your lighter clothes, much to Ignis’ reserved enjoyment, exhibited to you one afternoon in his home.

“I’ve half a mind to show you off around the throne room,” He says warmly, running a hand down your bared thigh below the hem of your shorts. You grin,

“Shorts aren’t exactly up to the Glaive dress code.”

“Who’s to say you’d be wearing anything less than a gown?”

You shift and throw a raised brow his direction.

“You’d take me to a gala?”

“I plan to, should you like to accompany me?”

Your face lights up, part excitement, part nerves.

“Oh Six, I mean…wouldn’t I stick out?”

“Darling, our _Prince_ sticks out at his own royal events.”

You snort and join Ignis in his smirk.

“Guess you’re right…yeah, I would love to, then.”

“Splendid,” He smiles easily, his own brand of composed excitement easy for you to read fluently, now. “I suppose then would be an opportune time for a proper introduction to my contemporaries, should you like.”

“My first impression would be looking a far cry nicer than I usually do. You wanna make your friends jealous?”

“Hardly my intention. Should they feel so, it’s out of my hands. I can’t help that my girlfriend is stunning.”

Your heart throbs.

“When’s the next one you’re scheduled to chaperone our prince to?”

“End of May, I believe,” He says through a chuckle.

“I’ll see if I can’t get Crowe to cover for me that day.” You say, feeling a strange marriage of determination and nerves. Even though Ignis had laid himself bare enough before your trip to the aquarium months before, after wading through your memories of that evening and all those following, your retrospect provides no utterance of the L word on his part. Even though you’re sure he meant it in his way, at this point in your turmoil, it’s proving another stumbling block. He just as easily could have meant he really liked you—a first is a first, after all—but falling short of love. You’ve yet to gather the courage to tell Ignis you love him, and it’s been long enough now without him properly breaking the ice first that you’re scared of that vulnerability even more. A gala, where you’d be looking the best you ever do, _has_ to give you enough confidence to confess. If not then, when? You resolutely, quietly, make a plan for yourself as you lean your head against Ignis’ shoulder as he winds his arms at your waist in his lap with a content sigh.

“Let’s hope,” Ignis agrees, and you notice a particular tension in his embrace, the way his thumbs trace small quarter-circles like a metronome across the skin bound over your hipbones, gliding just under the hem of your shirt. Your insides flutter, and your grin is between smug anticipation and heated restraint.

“You’re imagining me in a gown.”

“You’ve caught me.”

“What color?”

“Admittedly I have a weakness for you in violet.”

“What a coincidence.” You cock a brow and shift in his arms, meeting his piqued gaze and taking his hand in yours, pushing his fingers up under your shirt. Ignis’ light flush triples as you pull your top up with your wrist, settling his hand flush over the purple fabric of your bra.

“…Minx.”

“You admitted a weakness. What am I supposed to do, _not_ take advantage of it?”

“I am ever at your mercy,” He chuckles, but there’s a rough edge to his voice that you’ve come to recognize, a darkness in his timbre fluttering under the lilt of his accent that signals the start of a game…should you wish to play it. You wait for him to crack, just a little, and a grin slides over your features as he reservedly, softly, flexes his fingers and palms your breast through your undergarments. You let your sigh flow over the skin of his neck, and you know you have him when his Adam’s apple shifts in his throat.

“Is that so?” You murmur, feeling the rise and fall of his body under you pick up time. “What other weaknesses can I take advantage of?”

“How very bold of you to assume I’ll reveal anything further.”

“Oh I know you will,” You brush the tip of your nose under the hook of his jaw, your mouth gracing the skin of his throat as you push him further, knowing he won’t push back, knowing he wants to be seduced, but ever needing the pretense of formality. “We both know you will,” Your breath burns against his skin and you feel goosebumps raise under your lips against his neck.

“You want to know that badly?”

Your mouth curls into a grin and you lift your gaze to his steadily fogging one, batting your eyes and lacing your tone with need as you deliver the killing strike:

“ _Please_ , Ignis.”

Like watching Eos overtake the shine of the moon, his eyes darken, and blood sings hotter through his body pressed to yours. You smirk, watching his tongue ghost over the curve of his lips.

“If you insist, well…I’ve been thinking of trying something.”

Your insides shiver.

“I’m open to ideas.”

“It regards…possibly eliminating a recovery period on my part.”

“I’m _very_ open to ideas.”

He chuckles breathlessly and shifts his arm from around you to remove his glasses, a telltale sign of where this is headed. You smirk again, ever proud and thrilled that you’re the one to cause this rigid tactician to bend and break.

“If you’re keen on the idea, would you be dear enough to trust me and follow my lead?”

His words have you nearly melting out of your clothes in his lap, and you shift from laying on his chest to straddling him on the couch, not quite feverish but definitely eager. “How do we start?”

The flush on his high cheekbones unmistakable as the hitch in his breath and the pressure between your thighs, he murmurs slowly, darkly,

“By bringing me to the edge.”

You feel the beats and consonants of his murmured request thrum through your blood and heat your insides to the point of desperation, and in a hurried breath your mouth is open and covering his, seeking to assuage the fire burning, aching for him.

Clothes are stripped off and abandoned in an incriminating path as the two of you stumble near-blindly from the couch to Ignis’ bedroom, mouths crushed together or against throats or shoulders or jawbones, breaking only to find handholds to tear away fabric from each others’ bodies.

You begin to fall backward onto his bed, but grip into his sides and tear your mouth from his.

“Uh-uh,” Is all you can manage breathlessly, but it’s all you need to say as you tug the remainder of his clothing off and follow his boxers to the floor on your knees. You’ve learned, after an evening not long ago of heated, fidgeting blushes and delicately phrased intrigue, that Ignis is helpless to resist once the promise of oral is on the table. Indeed as you coyly glance up at him and run the tip of your nose along the side of the hardened flesh, you watch his eyes flutter and brows peak in a spellbound surrender.

“Let…let me sit, at least…” He manages, though you see him fighting not to bury his hands into your hair where he stands.

“Afraid your knees will give out?”

“Don’t tease, darling.”

“So that’s a yes?”

“Just because it happened the first ti—!”

His words choke into a groan as you, with little regard for the rest of his sentence, take him into your mouth as deep as you can accommodate and pull blood from the rest of his body. Ignis wobbles dangerously as his eyes roll closed, and you snicker around his cock, surfacing with a salacious sucking sound before he has the chance to stumble backward.

“So that’s a _yes?”_ You ask again through a slick smirk. Ignis composes himself just enough to purse his lips at your teasing.

“So help me, I’ll stand then.”

“Suit yourself.” You shrug around a mischievous, toothy smile and sink him into your mouth again, with every intention to bring him to his knees. He abruptly stops resisting the urge to fist his fingers into your hair, not pushing you down—never pushing you down—but threading an anchor into you as a defiant signal that he doesn’t intend to relent to your bet.

You shift on your knees and tenderly dole out laves, insides thrilling quietly as you draw groans from the man above you and toy with a thought. It’s a mean trick, but you’re not one to throw a challenge if you know you can win. Besides, you’re curious just what Ignis has in mind to keep him hard after a given climax, and this would certainly speed things along.

You let a deliberate whimper vibrate through your tongue pressed to the length of him, sticking it out beyond the confines of your mouth and cushioning the tender flesh from your lower teeth, head tilted back and throat accommodating. You hear his breath catching before you even push your mouth to the base of his length, well past the limit you’ve displayed to him in the past, when he’s been so lucky.

Your lips only graze the skin of his pelvis when you feel him tense like a spring, and before you can even properly bob once his fist is in your hair, pulling your mouth from him, gasps devolving into a gritted choke as his abdomen clutches tooth and nail to stave off the orgasm you all-but induced.

“…We…We will need to further explore...whatever you just did at a later time, love.” He gasps, collecting himself from the brink. “Unfortunately, I need your mouth elsewhere for this experiment." 

"Unfortunately?" You pout in jest as he draws you up to your feet. 

"You _did_  just pique my intense curiosity...but, one step at a time." He coyly smirks, flush settling a little as the tide of his climax draws back away from the shore as he maneuvers you backward onto his bed. 

"I'm upset you didn't collapse." 

"Likely had you continued, I would have."

"Good to know," You grin as he leans over you. You notice his eyes shifting, deliberating, flicking between both of yours as he presses your foreheads together.

"I would offer to return your lovely treatment, but, ah...should this go as I hope, I worry about...your body being overstimula—”

He can't make it through his sentence before you are melting under his voice, under the promise wrapped in his vernacular, and you heatedly, feverishly cover his mouth with yours, clutching at his skin and drawing your legs around his hips, inviting, pleading, demanding he proceed. He makes a hungry sound into your mouth and complies, gripping his palms into your skin and turning, pulling you on top of him and sheathing himself into you in one motion that has the room spinning around you for a moment. You instinctually lower your torso over his, matching your center of gravity and catching your balance, and in between tight breaths and small pulses of movement, he murmurs into your hair, 

"When I say, I'll need your teeth on me, but not before then." 

"Aw," You protest softly, but your dismay is offset by curiosity and lust, and you continue, "Where?"

Ignis slides a hand from your thigh up the side of your body, palm making a soft hiss along your skin and gently settling into your hair, cradling your head into the crook of his neck and pressing your mouth against the tense musculature of his shoulder. Low in your ear he murmurs, 

"The rest of my body is, as always, yours to brand however you choose." He covers the back of one of your hands pressed against his chest and pushes down, encouraging you to dig your nails into his flesh, and as you do it earns you a hitch in his breath. "Though I would ask you save your more remorseless attentions for when I give the word."

"S-Six," You shudder on top of him, rolling your hips in increasingly demanding intervals. "Please, before I burn up." 

You see a spark in his eyes, the light somewhere between mischievous and debonaire. 

"Is that a concern of yours? Were I certain I could control myself enough, I'd seduce you now as I did the first time I set you alight." 

His brand of dirty talk grips you by the veins and you're immediately desperate, digging both hands into the flesh of his chest and grinding down on his cock, drawing a harsh breath from him as he redoubles his grasp on you in turn and raises his hips to meet you. 

Already brought to the edge by you on your knees, his expression betrays just how brimming he truly is, brows peaked and teeth clenched as you rock against him. You let him hold out for as long as you can stand, but the desire to sink your teeth into the skin of his throat is quickly turning shade into compulsion. It's a selfish thing, but watching him crumble around the welted streaks of skin and bruising circles you leave in your wake is far and away what turns you on the most during sex. You press your lips tightly against his neck and whine wordlessly. You hear him grin into your hair. 

"Oh, is that what you want?"

His tone is sweet and dark and it curls around where he's slotted into you and squeezes. You flex your nails into his sides and his pace stutters, missing a beat to meet the roll of your hips. It gives you a moment for your mind to surface and you force your tongue to work, though all you can manage is,

"Let me, let me..."

"As you wish, darling." 

Before you have the chance to press your teeth into the rope of muscle at the crook of his neck, he shifts his weight and rolls you onto your back, arms clutched under your waist, at once raising your hips to meet his redoubled thrusts and holding you in place against the recoil. You feel him stiffen further against your insides and as he crests, he pushes his neck into your already-open mouth. 

"Ruin me," He commands through his teeth. You've never been happier to comply with an order. You feel his release blossom in you just as you dig your nails into his back and rake them through his skin, and as he cries out and rears forward you bury your teeth into his shoulder with every intention to leave a collar of bruises that wouldn't yield to anything less than a mega-potion. 

There's a frenetic kind of static about Ignis as the last of the shudders wracking him subside, and you search for a moment for his body to begin to slump or for an exhausted exhale, but Ignis is still clutching you tightly to him, and when he thrusts again and snarls into your hair, you have only a breath to revel that his idea succeeded, and he's in perfect form to continue. But after that breath, when he thrusts again, purposeful and powerful, your head throws back of its own accord away from the line of bruises you'd sucked into life along his throat as you cry out. 

You meet his gaze, and the eclipsed and wild version of the man is staring back at you, focused, hungry, _full of intent._  You're so turned on a sob wracks your throat. 

“Oh?” He rasps, voice harsh and resonant, lips ghosting over yours as he pushes into you again and draws another cry from your throat. “Is that what you want?” He poses his question again, but this time it’s a black and deadly thing, full of power and purpose and control. You nod feverishly, and you feel his body tense around you, inside you, as he nips your lip slowly and murmurs, “Beg me for more.”

You can’t stop the tears. You need him so badly. It’s like a physical pain, a cutting ache that only increases the more he withholds the act of fucking you senseless through…however many orgasms he has left in his body. Now that you’ve verified an acute spike of pain or adrenaline or whatever keeps him hard through a climax, that’s the only limit he’ll have, and _Gods_ you want to find that limit with him.

Through your blurred vision you see him pause, watch his expression dial back, and as quickly as you can unwind your arms from around him, before he can misconstrue your tears and throw the brakes in fear that he’s hurt or frightened you, you clutch both sides of his face with your hands, and with a voice cracked and needful, you level your gaze to his and beg:

“ _Please,_ Ignis! Please!”

As a tactician, as an advisor, having as much knowledge of and control over a situation is more than a skill Ignis needs, it’s synonymous with who he is. Having spent the last month in uncharted waters, finally gaining acute control over his body at its most impulsive—even if with an assist from you—puts a fire in his blood you can see in his eyes, lighting the curvature and giving him the edge he’s been craving, the precision he wants, finally completely confident he can impress you, a fully capable conductor of the instruments of your bodies.

The fiery burst in his eyes leaves the metaphorical as you watch flames manifest around his hands and forearms, reflecting in his matched gaze as he quickly sits you up in his lap, still buried in you and clutching you to his torso with one arm as he distances the cool fire from the bedclothes—just in case.

“P…Please,” You whisper again, overcome with a cocktail of emotions, but all second to the literal burning desire between you. Ignis presses his hand to your cheek, fire bright in your peripheral but only pleasantly warm, and prises your mouth open with his thumb on your lips, extinguishing the flame on his fingerprint with your tongue. You sob again and rock in his lap, desperate, _starving_ for friction. Finally, with a harsh breath through grit teeth, he loops one burning arm under one of your knees and pushes you back against the bed, holding his weight up with his other palm pressed to your chest as he fits himself firmly between your leg over his shoulder and your other beneath him, a pool of flames dripping and rippling like liquid from his hand onto your chest, your breasts, your collarbones and throat.

He looks like an astral; hands wielding a heatless flame flickering over his wrists and making orange ringlets around the joints in his fingers, firelight cast over ethereal beauty. He pins you firmly but not forcefully—never forcefully—as he resumes his pace, steady and powerful as a piston, and as the warmth of his tempered flames heat your skin as his body heats your soul, you’re lost to the spectacle, the experience, the true form of him: fire and knowledge.

 

You lose track of time, of how many bruises you suck into his flesh, of how many climaxes you ride out, or how many he does, but eventually the focus of the room begins to blur as you approach blacking out, having long forgotten how to breathe properly, and Ignis slows and suggests—at the very least—taking a moment to hydrate.

 

Bloodied cotton swabs collect in the waste bin in Ignis’ bathroom, rubbing alcohol killing cells and germs alike, turning the red quickly to a dead brown color. You glance at your nails as you gently pat at the open welts along Ignis’ back, a little shocked to find the ends of them are blood-colored half moons, saturated as polish. You swallow a little shallowly.

“…You’re sure I didn’t…overdo it?”

Despite the surgical undertones of the room, Ignis won’t stop smirking.

“I’ve never felt better.”

“Really?” You glance over his shoulder into the bathroom mirror, eyeing the ring of bruises along his neck. He grins as he catches your eyes in the reflection.

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?”

“My first inclination that I could use a bit of pain to my benefit when being intimate with you came to me far before we had even kissed.”

You pause, halfway through unwrapping a bandaid, and glance at him in the mirror. He’s blushing a little, flicking his gaze around the countertop before meeting yours. You cock a brow to spur his explanation.

“At the beginning, when we were training together, do you remember the first day?”

“Of course. I was flirting with you so hard.”

He chuckles as you resume tending to his back.

“Perhaps more than you even realize. You got a few good hits in that day, I daresay I haven’t been singed quite so severely in years.”

“…Sorry,” You grimace a little.

“Don’t be, it…ah,” His eyes are darting around the countertop again, searching for words, blush darkening. You can feel the heat from the back of his neck on your cheekbones. “It…was a catalyst for discovering how I could be more passionate with you. I was already focused by the pain, on top of having just discovered how strongly I might feel about you, and then you went and…”

He clears his throat. You peek over his shoulder into the reflection.

“And?”

“…You went and ground up against me when I had you pinned. Minx.”

You snort into his shoulder and you hear him grin.

“I did pat myself on the back for that, yeah.”

“I should have kissed you then,” Ignis muses as you continue disinfecting. “I admit I was a little overwhelmed at the volume of new sensations, being at the crux of both seduction and pain made for…some muddled directive.”

“Glad you cleared that up with yourself,” You joke.

“It wasn’t as quick as all that. I was still coming to terms with my feelings towards you, and with the new discovery I’d made about myself, well…you may have noticed I kept my distance in the subsequent training sessions.”

“Aw, were you being shy?”

He lets a short laugh through his nose,

“To be frank, I didn’t know if I could bear a repeat incident of your clever maneuver. I was at your mercy and…so full of desire, darling.” He flicks his gaze to yours, ink slowly overtaking emerald as he speaks. “My drive, my feelings…most were new, and all I barely understood. I didn’t want to overstep. I didn’t know what I was doing.” He grins, all teeth. Your stomach flips. “I’d like to think I’ve remedied that.”

You exhale shallowly, then shyly confess into his shoulder blade,

“I’m getting turned on again.”

“As am I. Just talking about it with you, I’m inclined to take you to bed again.” He catches your eyes in the mirror, expression softening into a gentle smile. Your heart stutters. “But, I’m all out of stamina, I’m afraid.”

“You okay?”

“Of course. Spent, sure. Tired, sore, hungry—but deliriously happy.”

A small grin curves your mouth, and you press a soft kiss into his shoulder blade.

“Me too.” You say as you plaster a bandaid or three onto particularly deep welts and toss the wrappers, moving next to him to wash your hands. He loops an arm at your waist and plants a kiss into your hair.

“Let’s address our hunger first, shall we?”

“You always feed me after sex.”

“It’s the only sensible thing _to do_ after sex.” He says matter-of-factly, pulling on pajama pants.

“Guess I can’t argue with you on that.”

“Perhaps after a meal I’ll be in the proper condition to seduce you once more.”

“Maybe if the food’s good enough.” You chuckle.

“Is that your only requisite? At least challenge me, darling.” He tosses a coy smirk over his shoulder as you grin and let him lead you to the kitchen, putting on a thin polyester night robe he bought for you specifically to keep at his house. You smile softly as you press your hands into the silky material, feeling the warmth leftover from Ignis’ body transition from your flesh to the fabric, wrapping you inside and out with the feeling of safety and happiness.

 

 

 

In retrospect, this was the happiest you’d be for a very, very long time.

 

 

 

 

When the call comes to defend Insomnia from an Imperial onslaught outside the shield, your first thought is of Ignis. You don’t have time to give him more than the one, though, because immediately you need to scramble to suit up and race with your comrades to the airship dock amidst the noise and nerves of an army deploying, with the knowledge that not all of you will return. You pray to every member of the Hexatheon that you can see Ignis again after this. You pray you can defend the city—you _must_ defend the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't kick the angst and tragedy down the road any further. Stay tuned for TEARS.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, please reread chapter 22! I added a scene near the end that I completely forgot I wanted to write, and frankly, you'll need the fluff going forward. 
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen Kingsglaive, now would be a good time to do so, as every major event going forward in Awaking in the Light is directly in reference to the movie. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

The sound of the battlefield is a cacophonous and unholy thing; insectoid screeches of daemons and deafening roars of Behemoths mix unevenly with the groan and whir of MTs marching unfazed by the wild movement about them. Veles walking armor units march like Iron Giants in their own right, launching barrages of missiles and flanking whole phalanxes of Niflheim soldiers, and bursts of magic vibrate the air with a familiar hum and crackle. You feel it more than you hear it; in your teeth, in your eye sockets. 

The Kingsglaive has the landscape's natural advantage; you're defending a border wall on the opposite side of a deep ravine, bridged only by a thin outcropping of stone that Niflheim needs to bottleneck its ground forces over, but despite that, the mixed Imperial armies of MTs, beasts, daemons, MA-X troops...they're all gaining ground, and you need to buy Crowe and the rest of the mages time. 

"What do we do?" You all-but scream over your comm, concentrating fire into spheres in your palms and hurling them down to the chaos below.

"All units, move to secure the wall! If they break through, we're done!" You hear Luche’s voice both through your link and at your side, and after a glance and a nod, you launch yourself from the edge of the wall as he vaults down the side of it, spearing an Ahriman daemon on his way down. You don't know how these things are out in the sunlight, or how Niflheim keeps so many of them to sic on you; they're swarming like locusts, whittling down your numbers so the more military portion of the siege can march soullessly right over all your corpses and into Insomnia at their leisure. You grit your teeth, readying your dagger mid-fall and warp-striking into the exoskeleton of an Ahriman, the vibrations of its dying screech making its blood bubble up around your blade. It turns your stomach, but you don't have time to vomit as another three of the chiton terrors skitter purposefully toward you. 

 _"What's the holdup, Crowe?"_ You hear Libertus' voice in your ear as you summon an arc of fire, knocking back the demons and giving you time to split open another's brain. You pry your dagger out of the demon's skull and turn just in time to slice open the belly of a fifth, moments from skewering you on one long, sharp arm. You can't think, you just need to move, if you stop moving you're dead. You hear Crowe's voice in your comm through the fog of movement and blood and fear so acute it feels like nothing at all. 

_"Almost there!"_

Above you, there's a fire in the clouds, but in front of you is a charging Behemoth outfitted with some kind of huge gun strapped to its shoulder and firing at random, and you aren't afforded any time to appreciate the mages’ storm. You're about to warp away, to see if you can maybe get to higher ground, but you spot Tredd crouched in the mid distance behind a pile of rubble, and over your comm you hear, 

_"We need help, east wall is going down! Pelna, can you get to me?"_

"I see you! I'm on my way!" You report, just as you hear Pelna, obviously in the middle of something, reply,

_"Lucis isn't paying us refugees enough!"_

Feet hardly touching the ground as you slice and burn a path through air and enemies, you warp continuously toward your bunkered comrade, intending to scoop him away from the hotspot of chaos, but like a thunderclap in your skull, a wave of missiles strikes a structure next to you, and the blast knocks your trajectory awry. You tumble toward the ground amidst the falling rubble, clutching your blade to your chest—a lifeline you can't afford to have knocked away and lost on the field. You're braced for the impact when you feel an arm clasped like a vice around your torso, sweeping you in yet a third direction and blurring the landscape as someone warps you to the ground. 

You gasp for breath, blearily looking upward as you try to stand. A hand grips the back of your collar and lifts you to your feet by the scruff, then settles in your hair. You finally can pinpoint a face as air returns to you. 

"Catch your breath, kiddo?" Nyx pats your head, a grin bursting with vitality painted across his features. You nod and cough, 

"Thanks Nyx," You choke out, "I owe you one." 

"I'll put it on your tab," He chuckles. The rest of the structure is wobbling and beginning to break apart, and in a moment of horror you spot Tredd, seconds from death as the collapse sends stones the size of cars crumbling toward him, curling like the break of a wave.

You don't have time to alert Nyx to what you're doing as you arc your arm back to throw your dagger toward Tredd, but just before it leaves your hand Pelna materializes over him, and you see the hexagonal light of a shield glimmer into life just as your view is blocked by the falling wreckage. You have a second of relief, trusting Pelna's shield held, before the ground under your feet rattles with the thunderous gait of the Behemoth you evaded moments before, continuing its rampage past you and toward your comrades. 

"Nyx!" 

"Let's go!"

The pair of you in tandem throw your blades, Nyx's speed unmatched as like lightning he's suddenly at the Behemoth's neck, dagger buried in its flesh, using his momentum to slice open its entire throat. You materialize over a horn of the dying beast, grasping onto the thing with both hands and throwing your weight to the side, hauling the Behemoth's head to the left and forcing the trajectory of its still-running corpse away from your comrades as it falls, the tonnage rattling the ground as it collapses and skids to a stop only yards from Tredd and Pelna. 

“Nyx! I owe you one!” Pelna gasps, eyes still wide.

“You and everyone else!” Nyx chuckles, taking cover next to the pair as you slide from the massive corpse of the Behemoth and roll to join them crouched behind the low wall.

“Thanks for stopping that body,” Pelna adds with a nod in your direction, but you can’t summon the battleground charm that Nyx has.

“You can split the bill.” Nyx replies for you without missing a beat, giving you a sideways glance and a nudge as he presses a fingertip to his comm.

_“We need support on the east flank! Nyx, where are you?”_

"I'm on my way," Nyx answers the voice in your comms, then readying his dagger says, "Pelna, fall back and regroup with the others!" 

"Take it easy on the magic, hero," Pelna helps Tredd to his feet, throwing a pointed look over his shoulder at Nyx, "You've got people waiting at home for you.”

"I'm worth the wait!" Nyx grins, giving you a sideways glance before arcing his arm back. “That means you, too. Fall back with the boys, kiddo." He dissipates as he follows his blade in a trail of light back into the fray of the battle. 

"Show off," Tredd tuts as Pelna helps him get to higher ground. 

"You got him, Pelna?"

"Yeah, you go cover our hero. He won't admit it, but the east flank needs more support than he can dish out."

"On it," You manage a small grin as you reply. You steady your breath and warp after Nyx, materializing behind him with a boot already out to kick away a daemon giving chase after him. You shove your blade into its face, right in the middle of all those ugly eyes. Your fear is beginning to be replaced by anger, your numbness by fuel. You spot a half-dead Ahriman stumble and shove Nyx to the ground in your periphery, dying on top of him and slowing him down long enough to be in danger. Your anger only sharpens.

"Fuck _off!_ " You scream as you send a plume of fire toward another as it scuttles toward the grounded Nyx, searing its eyes down to the sockets before you warp and stab down into its skull as it screeches. 

"On your feet, Nyx!" You hear a voice through the chaos of noise and magic and turn to see Sirius vaulting toward the pair of you, plumes of flame pushing her forward faster as she slices the legs off a stray MT in her path and uses her body to knock the dead daemon off of Nyx. She rolls and stands, hauling him up by the sleeve. 

"Good to see you, Sirius!" He stands and places his back against hers in one move, and as they each level their palms in front of them they have the same exhilarated expression. "Though I totally had that, you two." 

"Sure," You and Sirius say at the same time, Sirius pulling your sleeve and backing you against the pair of them. 

"Shouldn't you both be falling back and regrouping?"

"Shouldn't you be humble enough to know when you need backup?" You call over the sizzle and clap of the triangle of fire and lightning the three of you create. You hear Sirius chuckle.

From across the field through the clatter of the battle, you somehow can still hear Libertus' voice bellowing out Crowe's name, and for a moment you panic, fearing the worst until you hear Sirius' elated cry next to you. 

"The mages did it! Look up!" She says as she lets fly lightning from her palms, lighting the scars along her forearms. "We've won!" 

Above you there's an unnatural orange to the clouds, and as you watch, a pillar of smoke and flame and lightning swirls and reaches slowly toward the battlefield. It's like the firestorm Crowe pelted you with during elemental training, but with the size and power of Bahamut himself. In all three comms in your defensive triangle, you hear, 

_"All Glaives, fall back! Repeat: All Glaives, fall back!"_

"We gotta run!" Nyx calls as he grabs onto one more Ahriman, electrocuting it before tearing a leg from it and stabbing it through the jaw. The wind and heat become stinging and then blinding as the three of you bolt away through the wreckage and corpses and dart around still-hostile enemies, even as they are sucked away into the cyclone of fire. You hear the cries of fellow Glaives mixed in with the trills and roars of the daemons, too slow to escape the last-resort attack that burns friend and foe alike. Your stomach turns. You try not to think about it as you skid behind a low wall and collapse onto your back, finally allowing yourself a moment to breathe, to process...to vomit. 

"Senpai?" Sirius tentatively rubs your back as you cough and gasp. 

"I'm okay. I'm okay, just...just give me a minute," 

"You're alive, kiddo, that's good enough. Get it all out." Nyx looks through a hole left by a missing brick in the structure, and as you blink tears away you see a bar of sunlight passing over his eyes, thinning until it's just a wisp. Nyx's brows furrow as the light completely dies. 

“…What the fuck is that?" 

His question is punctuated by a haunting creak, loud and resonating and at once organic and unnatural. It vibrates your empty guts and you're suddenly cold, suddenly wanting the sunlight back. You make a horrible realization as you scramble to your knees to join Nyx at the viewport in the wall. 

"Nyx...they thinned out our numbers at _sunset_ ,"

"Damn it," Nyx's voice doesn't have that battlefield charm anymore. 

"The mages will just need to hold out." Sirius pipes. 

"Against that?" Nyx shifts from his place so Sirius can move next to you, and you take her hand as the approaching mass, cloaked in smoke and towed by Imperial airships, drops to the ground. 

You don’t know what it is. The color and shape would suggest it’s some kind of daemon, but its silhouette reaches into the clouds. It’s the size of an Astral… _is it_ an Astral? Did the Empire find whatever became of Ifrit and turn him into…this?

“Nyx…Nyx, what do we do?”

Sirius says in your ear, unable to tear her eyes from the monstrosity.

“Whatever that thing is, it isn’t completely controlled. Look,” He points as the creature roars—more a groan that rattles your teeth—and hauls away from the airships still tethered to its crab-like legs, dragging more than one into the ground in bursts of fire and shrapnel. “It’s just going to rampage, so maybe if we can somehow just turn it around…we can…”

He trails off, watching the daemon as it shambles toward the vortex of fire still swirling on the battlefield, the only thing that had secured your victory up to this point.

“The mages!” Sirius screams as the daemon lurches into the flames, severing the tornado from the sky and smothering it with its massive exoskeleton.

“Crowe!” You scream into your comm, never taking your eyes from the daemon. “Crowe, hold on! Hold on!”

You’ve trained enough with her to know her limits, and even as you watch the tornado extinguish itself against the shelled belly of the monster in front of you, you’re crying into your comm for the mages to hold out against this insurmountable enemy…because how else could the rest of you?

As the column of flame swirls and dies, two massive mouths—each larger than the thing’s torso—open up on its shoulders. More Ahriman daemons scuttle out of them, and your empty stomach twists again, but your nausea is quickly replaced by utter terror as, in an act no daemon is capable of, hundreds of missiles rocket from the thing, directionless and devastating.

“What _is_ …” You begin, but as the rain of fire begins to make its way to the ground and intermittent explosions become an unbroken barrage of destruction, your words fail you. An outcropping of rock above the monster is as in the line of fire as you and your comrades and the border wall, and tons of stone begin to break off and crumble in a hellish, deadly hail onto the battlefield.

 _“We can’t take out that daemon,”_ You hear a voice in your comm, though distantly through your shock. _“I’m ordering a full retreat. Get back here alive, that’s an order!”_

You’re the first to scramble to your feet as the first of the impacts of rocks the size of buildings rattles you to your senses.

“You heard the man, move! If we die here and now, we can’t kill that thing later!”

“That’s the spirit, kiddo!” Nyx says, pulling Sirius to her feet, already running. As you sprint across the battlefield, you see Cerberuses let loose at the monster’s feet, drooling magma and eating Glaives whole as they rampage. You aren’t afforded more time to feel horror as you need to dodge shattered rock and debris falling not ten yards behind you, rattling the ground and cracking the stone under you. You spot escape vans careening through the abandoned city nestled at the wall you were defending, packed with Glaives trying to escape from certain death and follow their commander’s order of returning home outside of a body bag.

As more and more of the rock formation hurtles down and impacts the thin bridge of stone you’d been battling on top of, more of it fractures and shudders, and it begins to collapse. You can’t help but look back behind you, to see if there are Glaives too close to the edge of the crumbling bridge to evade falling to their deaths into the chasm below, to see if maybe you can warp to one, save one, just one if that’s all you can do. But your blood runs cold as you recognize Libertus, ten yards behind you and pinned under a shard of rock the size of a car, at death’s door.

You stumble and careen toward the ground, but an arm is under either of yours before you fall as Sirius and Nyx scoop you back to your feet, still running. Nyx glances back, perhaps to see what had distracted you, and you swear you feel him nearly stumble too. He dodges behind a ruined fragment of wall, and instinctually you stop with him. Sirius tumbles to a crouch a few feet farther.

“What are you doing?” You she yells, then her ears perk as she hears Libertus scream, part frustration, part pain, part fear. In all of your comms you hear,

_“All units, fall back to the extraction point. Support is inbound.”_

Luche, running full tilt along the same escape route, skids as he spots the three of you and crouches next to you.

“We need to get out of here!” He yells, grabbing Sirius by the sleeve and Nyx by the collar. “Nyx! We have orders!”

A Cerberus is barreling toward where Libertus is pinned. Your grip tightens around your blade and you glance at Nyx. He holds your gaze.

“Ugh,” Nyx is worlds away as he breaks free of Luche’s grip. “That idiot.”

In a burst of light he’s gone, warping more times than you can count through the air toward where Libertus is trapped. You arc your arm back to follow him before you have time to question yourself, but before you can follow Nyx, Sirius’ voice stops you.

“Let me go, Luche!” You turn to see Luche prying Sirius’ blade out of her hand before she can warp away from him and after Nyx.

“Damn it, am I the only one who cares about orders?” He grabs her by the arm and drags her toward the escape route as her dagger clatters to the ground. As he passes you he reaches out with his other hand toward your collar, doubtless intending to drag you to safety too, by force if necessary. You lock eyes with Sirius, and a sob escapes her as she pleads,

“Help them!”

With no plan, you dodge Luche’s outstretched hand and scoop up Sirius’ blade, tucking it into your sheath and warping toward Nyx and Libertus and the rampaging Cerberus before Luche can stop you.

You materialize right as Nyx is about to drive his dagger into the middle head of the Cerberus, and you don’t have time to warn him before he’s swatted away by the thing’s tail and slammed against the nearby cliff wall a hundred feet from the ground. You scream as you arc your arm back to throw your blade toward the head lunging toward his falling body, and for a second your heart rips in half when the Cerberus’ open mouth crashes into the wall over Nyx, magma splattering onto the rock.

Before time completely resumes its pace, you see a flash of blue as Nyx appears in the air above you, clothing singed, and you’re unsure if this is because he warped literally out of the jaws of death and the heat of the thing’s molten drool took its toll, or if the magic he’s using is burning him from the inside out. You don’t have time to wonder as you appear over the left head of the Cerberus and dig your blade into its hide just so it can’t get away from you as it stumbles back away from the wall.

“Nyx!” You scream as you draw Sirius’ blade, and with a snarl you rear back and drive both daggers into the snout of the head you’re on, digging your feet into its neck and prying its mouth open, even as it roars fire and the center head makes to snap at you. “Nyx! Grenade!”

Understanding even as he falls, Nyx fumbles for his belt and draws a grenade, hurling it into the mouth you’re leveraging open, your hands burning as the molten blood of the thing heats your daggers. The center head opens its jaws and twists toward you. You squeeze your eyes shut.

 

 

 

_Ignis,_

 

 

 

_Ignis…_

 

 

 

 

 

The grenade explodes. The face of the center head is obliterated along with the whole of the one you’re riding, and you’re hurled backward in varied flames, still somehow clutching both daggers. Inexplicably still alive, in a moment of clarity as you sail through the air, you spy Nyx on the ground charging toward an Ahriman that’s flipped the boulder off of Libertus, but seems intent on eating him. You throw your dagger and warp-strike into the skull of the thing just as Nyx takes it out at the knees. It squeals, but is still very much alive. Nyx levels his palm to it.

“Move!”

You yank the dagger from its shell and vault away just as Nyx electrocutes the last of the life out of it. It sizzles and its corpse stumbles for a few more steps before shuddering and collapsing. You scramble to your feet, dizzy but alert, and spot the Cerberus, now down to one head, stumbling around with the literal dead weight making it wobble to the left.

“That thing’s not done yet,” You say as you shove Sirius’ blade into Nyx’s hand. “Get Libertus out of here, we need to go, before the bridge—!”

As the Cerberus howls and stumbles, the cracks beneath its weight give way, and the bridge begins to collapse in earnest beneath it, rolling like an inverse wave, downward into the dark chasm and toward the three of you and the Cerberus, which moves purposefully away from the crumbling bridge and toward your group. Nyx locks eyes with you.

“I’ve got Libertus, you get the fuck out of here!”

“Don’t fucking die!” You scream as Nyx dashes toward Libertus. You turn and throw your blade, warping as far as you can from the collapse. You hear the telltale sounds of Nyx and Libertus warping after you and you chance a glance behind you, watching the mangled Cerberus struggle to gain footing as it chases your friends, but fall into the chasm as the bridge finishes falling away under it.

As Nyx and Libertus roll out of their warps next to you, Libertus is already gagging. You can’t bring yourself to sit up and check on him, but you’re relieved that he’s only vomiting, not dead.

“You should have been a mage,” You manage a strangled joke.

“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Nyx says from over Libertus, and indeed, the monstrous daemon is still lurching toward the wall. You shift and muster the strength to get to your knees. You watch, eyes full of dirt and smoke and daemon blood as the creature moves toward the capital with ease. A sob wracks your throat as your hands form fists in the dirt at your knees.

You’ve survived, but you’ve failed. You’re alive, but what good will that do?

It’s like the creature wears a could of smoke, exhaust pluming from every pore in its chiton body. The lights in its eyes are unnatural, mechanical, and the sounds it makes are an unholy marriage of organic and daemonic, like the whirr of clockwork, but moving blood rather than time. You choke on tears, and through the sound of all of it, of the escape vans a quarter mile away, of the cries of Glaives fighting through stubborn daemons to get to them, through the sound of your sobs, the enemy troops, the heart in your chest…through all of it, the sound the monster makes has been vibrating the ground, a low resonance no machine can make, but persistent enough for only that. As your hands clutch at the dirt at your feet, you can feel in your fingernails, in the bones of your forearms, that piercing thrum begin to wane.

The lights in the monster’s eyes flicker off, and its movements begin to slow. The towering horror, limb by limb, begins to lower toward the ground, and the hum leaves the air before the pitch lowers too far for the ground to carry the vibrations any further.

“It…It’s stopping…” Libertus hoarsely gasps.

“Why?” Nyx chances standing up, and he scales the ruined structure the three of you are sheltered behind to gain a vantage point. After a moment of silence, he says, “They’re…” He looks down at you and Libertus in disbelief. “They’re withdrawing.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As you help Nyx carry Libertus to the extraction point, over corpses of ally and enemy alike, as medics move him to a stretcher and you embrace Sirius, you keep repeating Nyx’s question to yourself.

Why did the Imperial forces retreat? They had clearly won. Your brows furrow.

“Hey kiddo.”

A voice snaps you from your thoughts, and a rush of relief floods you.

“Crowe!” You leap forward to embrace her, and though you know she’s not a hugger, she doesn’t seem to mind this one time. At least until you start crying into her shoulder, at which point she stiffens and holds you away from her at arm’s length.

“You’re alive!” You sob, though you admit to yourself she looks awful. Her eyes are bloodshot, and even some of the capillaries in her face have burst, leaving bruises tiny and numerous as freckles scattered across her cheeks.

“Yeah, well,” She huffs, scowling at the ground and echoing your earlier thought: “What good does that do?”

“It does me good to see you alive, Crowe.” Nyx paces up behind her and pats her shoulder. “We’re not dead. We’re not under Imperial control. Let’s see how long we can keep both those things, yeah?”

“Yeah,” You agree, though all Crowe does is give a sullen nod. Nyx ruffles your hair.

“Come sit with me, kiddo.”

“Sure,” You’re a little too drained to be curious why, but you follow him to the bumper of one of the evacuation vans and sit next to him, the shocks of the vehicle groaning under the weight.

“Something's not right,” He begins, resting his elbows on his knees and looking out over the chasm, out at the destroyed battlefield the escape vans had caravanned you away from to get Libertus to the medical tent stationed at what you thought was a safe distance, though had that daemon not been _shut off,_ no distance would have been sufficient. The Crown City and all surrounding regions would have been immediately annexed into the Empire, by force or through surrender. You frown and nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Besithia’s gotta be behind that _thing_.”

“Yeah.”

“This was a show of power.”

“You think there’s more where that came from?”

“Would it matter if there was? We couldn’t take what they _did_ throw at us.” Nyx glances at you. “You need to get out of the city.”

You’re taken aback as you sit up.

“What?”

“We—the Kingsglaive—we can’t hold off the Empire any more. Not if they’re packing stuff like that. Which means Insomnia will be bringing out the big guns. Which means war’s coming here. To our homes.”

“You…you want me to run, Nyx?”

“Kid—”

“You can fuck right off with that shit, Nyx.” You say, suddenly standing from the bumper of the van, making it creak and wobble. “There might be Glaives who would abandon King Regis, but I’m not one of them. Being a Glaive means as much to me as it does to you.”

He sighs, running his hands through his hair.

“Is this about Scientia?”

Your blood goes cold.

“Nyx, don’t fucking insult me. Did I or did I not take a grenade to the face out there? At what point did that suggest to you that I was just defending the city for one person? That I was just hanging around for my boyfriend and that was the only thing stopping me from turning coat?”

“I’m not telling you to turncoat, I just d—”

“I’m not running because I took an oath. I’m not running because I swore to protect the city and the people in it. That includes Ignis, and you know who the fuck else? _You._ And the rest of the Glaives. So until the time comes that I don’t need to protect anyone, I’m staying.”

“Bigger shit than that monster is coming our way!”

“Then you’ll need me more than ever!”

“…Damn it,” Nyx grits his teeth and rests his forehead in his hand. “Just…don’t die. Okay?”

“Nyx,” You soften a little and sit once more on the bumper next to him. “I’m not your sister.”

“Kid—”

“I’m not. You know I love you, but I’m just as capable a fighter as you are. You were a little dead in the water against that Cerberus until I showed up. Sirius got you out of a tight spot too.” You place a hand tentatively on his shoulder. “Don’t pretend you don’t depend on us when push comes to shove, Hero. I don’t need to be sent away. I don’t need saving.”

He sighs roughly into his hands as he scrubs at his face.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Good work out there.”

“You too.”

You hear gravel crunching underfoot from behind you, and Drautos paces up next to Nyx.

“You two disobeyed a direct order to retreat.”

You wince at his opener. You draw breath to reply, but Nyx beats you to it.

“For Hearth and Home, right sir? As long as I got strength in my body, I obey _that_ order.”

“Libertus was retreating too until he was pinned, Sir.” You pipe. “He’s still alive, which means one more Glaive the King still has at his side. We’re a stronger army if we don’t let men die needlessly on the field.”

“Don’t fool yourselves,” Drautos’ voice has no hint of agreement. “Whatever strength you have is on loan from the King. You are nothing without him.” His words cut you as he moves to walk away. “Await details of your reassignment.”

Nyx hasn’t bothered looking up from the horizon to meet Drautos’ eyes, and at this you lower yours to the ground.

“Yes, sir.” You murmur. Nyx says nothing.

 

 

 

The airships you took to the battlefield have been deemed unsafe to use for the trip back. Too easy to shoot out of the sky, too great a risk to lose that many of your number at once. Your superiors are uneasy. Their confidence is shaken. Looks like Niflheim made its point, you think as you file into a caravan of large vans that will take five or six times as long to get you back to the Capital. You suppose that’s okay, it’ll give you time to sleep…if you can. You shudder. Maybe the nightmares aren’t worth it just yet.

As dawn begins to surface, black giving way to a stripe of clear blue along the horizon, you shuffle through your bag that was retrieved along with other things the rest of the Glaives left on the airships before they moved out. Your hands are shaking as you pull out your phone. You see a text from hours ago, shortly after the alarm sounded and you needed to suit up and deploy, and surely only moments after Ignis became aware of the battle.

 

 

_“I pray to the Hexatheon for your safe return.”_

 

 

You begin to cry, and Nyx, without asking any questions, without even looking, really, reaches over from his seat next to you and rubs your back as you shakily type out a reply.

 

 

_“I’m coming home. It was rough, and things don’t look great, but I’m alright. I hope I can see you soon…There’s something I need to tell you in person.”_


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The middle chunk of this chapter is a retelling of a scene from Kingsglaive with MC added to the mix, and the rest is what I imagine goes down in between scenes! Please enjoy!

The next few days are a frenzied blur of report submissions and health checks, both physical and mental. 

You pause for breath once or twice while filling out your report on your experience during the battle. The giant daemon is especially troublesome to describe; the fear of Lucis' helplessness very sharp and poignant within you makes recounting its horror all the more difficult. You wince when you write about your defiance of the retreat orders, but recount it fully anyway. You're apprehensive about the consequences of your actions, but have few regrets. Libertus is alive because you and Nyx intervened.  

You'd somehow avoided much bodily harm during the assault on the border, escaping with only some bruising, second degree burns on your chest and hands, and a light concussion, doubtless all from the pretty reckless stunt you pulled with the Cerberus, and thankfully all no more than a hi-potion or two can't fix up. 

What's more concerning is the very real possibility of PTSD. You're launched into a standard round of mental health counseling and evaluation, where your voice is recorded for your military record. You're sitting across from a woman in a space more like a meeting room than a counseling office, but you know should this formality of an evaluation lead to further sessions, there's an expert you'll be sent to, where you'll be either declared fit for duty, assigned a leave of absence, or retired from service altogether if your trauma is particularly disruptive. 

You fidget with your fingers in your lap. You think you're okay. Just...sad. Sad about the loss of those who died and for their families. 

"But it's not like I didn't know this would happen when I signed up," You tell the woman across from you, who had introduced herself as Hestia when you'd walked in. 

"Expecting and experiencing are two different things," She says, "and nothing necessarily precludes you from the psychological stress of it all." She glances down at your interlaced hands in your lap and adds, "Have you found eating difficult?" 

Your stomach twists. 

Ignis has been especially tightly drafted into his set of responsibilities the past few days as well, as is perfectly expected. Your paltry-in-comparison cooking or anything you might order from a restaurant just makes you think of him, of how your city is wounded and dying and each of you is bound to try and cure what ails her, to protect the people, the King, the Prince, each other, to fight the enemy, the Empire, to die if needed...and how very much you miss him. You admittedly don't have much of an appetite for whatever is on your plate after that. 

"...Not for the reasons you're expecting." You summarize. Hestia gives you a crooked smile, both wry and understanding. 

"I know you know the procedure. If you're afraid that you admitting to any trauma will lead to your removal from the field, do consider if you'll be truly an asset to the Kingsglaive if you're operating under any considerable amount of mental stress."

"I'm not lying about what I'm feeling," You chew you lip. "It...it was awful. I watched comrades die. I watched some get _eaten alive._ I threw up on the field and cried when I thought we were all dead. I'm not omitting anything. I wrote down all of it in my report. I'm already going to be reassigned because of my insubordination, I have no reason to dodge any counseling I might need. I'm sad, I'm afraid, but I mostly just..."

Hestia doesn't prompt you as you search for words. 

"Mostly I just...want to do what I can to keep what I have. And if there were some limit that, like...I don't know, that my own brain is putting on me, then I would know that I'd done all I could. But I don't think I'm there yet. I don't think I'm done."

With that, Hestia straightens up and seems satisfied. 

"Well, try to eat."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll mark you down as fit to continue duty."

"Thank you," 

"As for your reassignment," She flicks her gaze over the few papers she has in front of her, then glances up. "If you need to come back to me, come back to me."

Your brows furrow.

"What do you mean?"

"You haven't checked?" She plucks one of the papers from the rest in her hands and slides it toward you. It's part of your profile within the ranks of the Kingsglaive. Your eyes scan the sheet, and right as you see where you're assigned, Hestia says, "I see more people from the gates than you'd think." 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

" _Gatekeeping?_ " You pipe incredulously. 

"You ignored the retreat order." 

"But  _gatekeeping?"_

"Look kiddo, I don't know what to tell you." Crowe shifts in her seat and rests a foot on the empty space of Libertus' chair where his leg would have been, were it not propped up in a cast two inches thick. "I'm glad you and Nyx did what you did, but orders are orders, and shitty or not there are still consequences." 

You, Crowe, Libertus, Pelna, and Luche are at a hole-in-the-wall kebob stand, buried in the city down a set of stairs in such a way that you need to know it's there to find it. The Galahdan who runs it luckily has a loyal clientele, you and yours included, but with an increasingly large number of native Insomnians. You prefer Respite-and-Bite for the open air, but this little cart is closer to Libertus' home, and crutching any distances longer than this just isn't in the cards for him right now. 

"Yeah," He says gruffly as he leans his weight away from the hip of his broken leg. "Don't want to get eaten before I get to see home again, after all." Your brows knit. His demeanor has been on an increasing decline for a while, but he hasn't been nearly as good-natured since the battle. Rightly so, his leg was inches from amputation, crushed to the point where even mega-potions could only do so much to repair the mulched bone and shredded musculature, nerves, tendons...he'll need to heal halfway on his own, and even then he'll probably lose some feeling in his foot and walk with a limp. It's hard not to be irritable in a state like his, surely, but...there's something more bitter, more hostile in his tone, his eyes, that makes you nervous. You let out a rough sigh as you spot Nyx making his way down the short flight of concrete steps to join your party. 

"Hey, rough day on the gate, huh, Glaive?" Libertus cocks a brow over his shoulder as Nyx joins the rest of you at the table.

"You jerk," Crowe shoves Libertus, maybe just a little too roughly. "It's your fault he got stuck there." 

"Not a very nice welcome for a big hero," Nyx's voice is flatter than usual, too. You squirm as the tension builds around the food cart. 

"Not a very nice outfit for one, either," Crowe pokes him on the gatekeeping crest sewn into his new uniform.

"I think it brings out my eyes." He parries, gaze shifting to you. "You gonna come join me on the east gate, kiddo?" His tone is joking as he pulls out a chair, but you know he's just as dejected as you are. 

"You sure got put out there fast, Nyx."

He shrugs, not without a small smirk.

"I've got a way of doing things that's had Drautos itching for an excuse to reassign me since I got here." 

"And ya had to go and give him one," Crowe tuts. 

You're cut short by Libertus' loud exclamation of disgust as he turns to the cook and brandishes the skewer at him. 

"What did you put in this? It tastes like a chocobo turd!" 

"Libertus," You plead, but the cook is ready to argue back.

"Hey, shut your trap! This ain't Galahd, that's the way folks around here like it." 

"Oh! Well, I'm glad to see you're willing to sell out our heritage for a few extra gil." The toxicity of the sarcasm in Libertus' voice radiates through you, despite being directed at the cook. You look at your hands. You wish Sirius were here, but she's adamantly declining any extra-duty invitations if they include Luche, still seething that he forced her to retreat with the rest of the Kingsglaive instead of allowing her to help you and Nyx save Libertus. 

"Hey Libertus," Crowe cocks a brow in his direction, obviously annoyed by his attitude where you only found discomfort. "You thank Nyx for saving your life yet?" 

"Aw, come on, Crowe, Nyx and I are too close for that." He brushes off her tone. "He helps me, I help him. That's the way it's always been." 

You sense false bravado in his voice. You were there when Nyx was walking alongside Libertus on the stretcher, saw the grateful exchange, but he won't give credence to it here and now. You chew your lip and glance at Nyx, who is shuffling around under Libertus' seat. He pulls Libertus' jacket into view and gestures to the pill bottle sticking out of the pocket. 

"Looks like you got a little help from something else, huh?" 

"I need all I can get." Libertus says as he snatches the jacket out of Nyx's hand.

"You were there, Nyx," You pipe cautiously. "You saw the size of that rock. You can't be mad about painkillers if magic can only heal him halfway." 

"I guess." Nyx huffs. "Those dull your reflexes."

"Do you think I'll be helped any by having sharper reflexes if I can't even fucking walk, Nyx?" Libertus barks back.

You're saved the argument escalating by Pelna bringing Nyx a drink and offering up a quiet "For hearth,"

"And home," Nyx replies. You notice Libertus taking a pointedly sour bite from his kebob as Pelna resituates himself at the table.

"So, Nyx the gatekeeper." Pelna says. "How's the new post treating you?" 

"Oh it's amazing, you guys would love it. You'll see, kiddo," He shifts his gaze to you briefly. "The gatewatch are real sweethearts." You deflate further as Pelna chuckles disingenuously. 

"Yeah, right. We all know they hate us outsiders more than anything. And they're so bored, they got nothing better to do." 

“Come on, Nyx,” You pipe. The tension at the table and throughout the Kingsglaive is starting to pull at your nerves. "You could at least pretend I won't be as bored out there are you are."

"Eh, boredom's not so bad," Nyx pokes errant bits of meat onto his skewer as he speaks. "Mean's there's peace, at least. I'd fight a hundred more wars for Galahdans to know boredom.”

"Fight all you want, just don't go dying yet." Pelna points at Nyx, glass still in his hand. "I still owe you a lot." 

"Speaking of dying," Luche interjects unceremoniously, "The funeral’s been set." 

"...Oh?" Your heart sinks. The mass funeral for the fallen Glaives. You glance down at the skewer in your hand, feeling again the desire to eat lessen within you. You know you should. You still _can,_ after all. You bite off a chunk from the kebob and chew, but the flavor is pale and lifeless. You keep eating. 

"Tomorrow morning. Drautos called for us to be in uniform. Apparently the King is going to speak there." 

"The King?" Libertus spits. "What could he possibly have to say to us?" 

"Hey, watch your mouth." You suddenly growl, shocked by the vitriol in your own voice. "He's doing all he can. Let’s see you use your soul to power a magic shield 24/7 around a whole city.”

“Yeah, well if I could I damn well wouldn’t leave everything outside the capital completely defenseless at the first sign of trouble!”

“How old are you, Libertus, huh?” You shove your food away from you, glaring daggers at the Galahdan at odds with you across the table. “How old do you think Regis is? You think he doesn’t lose any sleep over the decision to pull back the shield? Why the hell do you think we’re here? He _needs_ us to protect the regions he can’t anymore!”

“Oh! Where would the Glaive be without its heroes?” Libertus drawls, voice full of poison. “Suspicious that you’re defending the nobility—can’t help but notice you’re in bed with them, too.” 

Your blood boils like flash paper held to a light, and a mercurial flush of rage and embarrassment paints your features.

“Libertus, that’s enough!” Nyx snaps, “What makes you think you can talk to her like that? Did you forget she saved your life, too?”

“Can you not talk like this when we’re drinking, please?” Crowe interjects in Libertus’ direction. He scowls. You’re still too angry to form words, but you let it simmer instead of boil over. “Besides,” She continues, “We just sent the Niffs running with their tails between their legs, right?”

“They weren’t running from us,” Luche suddenly speaks from the side of the little concrete outcropping, leaning against the railing. “No, they were toying with us.”

The air grows still and cold for a moment. You chew your lip, remembering the massive daemon lowering itself to the ground limb by limb until it powered down completely. The sound of it haunts you.

“Stop being such a buzzkill, Luche,” Nyx says, shaking his head. “We all…know what happened.”

“Well did you know they sent an envoy to the Citadel after that?” Luche stands straight, voice suddenly sharp and taught like a wire.

“What for?” Libertus asks, “To offer their surrender?”

“More like demand ours.”

Quick as your anger had heated your blood, it goes cold, and the temperature shift in your heart makes the dimly lit space spin. You brace your palms under the table and the image of the giant daemon shutting down seemingly without reason rattles through your mind again.

“Demand?” Libertus’ loud voice cuts through your haze. “My ass!”

“No?” Luche takes a step forward. “Think about it! The Empire’s got Lucis on its last legs, it’s the perfect time to make demands!”

An odd sort of tension descends over the table. Pelna pushes his food away and all eyes shift aimlessly, trying to avoid contact. It’s somewhere between frustration, disbelief, and fear, and it takes hold of you by your trachea, the cold of it making your breaths tight. You eye your hands in your lap. You’re exhausted. You don’t particularly want to be here anymore. You don’t want to keep talking about the state of Lucis, and you certainly don’t want to keep hanging around Libertus for the time being.

“What time is the funeral tomorrow, Luche?” You say flatly, standing and pushing your chair in.

“0900.”

“Alright. Nyx, I'll put in a request to be stationed on the east gate tomorrow. Maybe we can fuck with the gate watch together.”

“Sounds good, kiddo.”

And then you leave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Aside from the obvious reason, that being the death of a loved one, you've never liked going to funerals. On paper they can be beautiful things: a gathering of people who all are connected by the deceased; a ceremony honoring the life of the fallen; a chance to reflect on life's nature, to accept, to move on at peace. In practice, you find it difficult to bear the raw emotions compounded on multiple faces around you. The sorrow in the air fills your chest, and you know it's meant to, you know it's healthy to grieve for your dead, likely even more so in a group who can all relate, are all going through the same process. But this one is especially tense. After Drautos and the Marshal give their remembrances on behalf of the Kingsglaive and the Crownsguard, when Regis steps forward, you can sense the sadness in the room shift toward a desperation borne of uncertainty and stress. Your throat tightens, and to anyone glancing over at your choked sob, they would likely think you were simply crying for the loss of your comrades, but you're also afraid. You have the dead in your ranks to mourn, and those still living are beginning to fight amongst themselves, death and anger each leading to equally dangerous outcomes for the Kingsglaive. You hope what Regis says, as he steps forward with an extra beat in his pace as he leans on his cane, will help quell the quietly rising discord. 

You're gathered in a large cathedral, not dissimilar in architecture to the throne room in the Citadel. The black banners draped around the windows and across bannisters are familiar in their presence but carry an extra layer of poignancy today. The light that comes through the windows is clear and colorless and casts sharp shadows across the heads of your comrades, all standing rank-and-file, all facing a ceremonial coffin with a delicately scripted list of names printed on the side in gold leaf. More names than you'd like, many without bodies to identify. 

As Regis makes his way forward to the front of the dais, you see a small entourage following him. Of course he has his Shield, Clarus, brow permanently furrowed in a stern watchfulness. Behind him are the Prince and his own Amacitia shield—Gladiolus wears the same stony expression as his father, the pair of them younger, softer versions of the two preceding them. Prince Noctis has an unreadable look about his face, eyes downcast, feet shifting under him as he takes up his position next to his father, the shields flanking their respective charges. Then you see Ignis. 

You hadn't been sure whether or not he would be here, but he steps out to flank the Prince's other shoulder, wearing his Crownsguard uniform, steadfast and as much a pillar of the royal family as the other four figures with him on the dais, elevated above you and somber in that way of his unshakable disposition. You catch his eyes scanning the rows of Glaives and a small, dim flutter of love blips through you, a brief respite from the rest of the heavy atmosphere. You and he lock eyes, forty feet between you, and you give him a small nod and a sad smile. He returns your nod slowly. It's all you can exchange as the King begins to speak. 

"Death is rarely a timely guest," He begins. His voice is slow, strained, like age and magic have stretched him thin, but his words are clear and resonant through the cold air of the cathedral. "We hope the ends of our lives are peaceful, our last moments uneventful and quiet, but we all are under no illusions that these are desires likely to be met." He stands straighter, leaning his weight as best he can on his crippled leg. "I have asked you for no small favor. I have asked you to take this understanding and turn it into fearlessness. To offer up the ends of your lives in hopes that you can delay those of the citizenry you protect. The training you undergo ensures that you gamble as smartly, safely, as you can, but it is a gamble nonetheless, the stakes of which are unparalleled. I owe the safety of my people to you, and the risk you take. But I can never hope to repay the debt I owe to those of you who have fallen while upholding their safety. I am grateful. I am humbled. The collateral for war is a terrible thing, but when peace is achieved, I hope death, instead of an untimely intruder, will be a friendly guest in your futures." 

When the King finishes speaking, leaning his weight again onto his cane, Drautos presses his fist to his heart at the head of your ranks. The group follows suit in a salute, and as you lift your head from a light bow, you catch Ignis' gaze again. His hands are flexing by his sides, stance tight, like he's unsure which direction his body is going to move, or should move. But as the King turns and makes his departure, each figure flanking him in turn follows, and Ignis takes his place at the back of the entourage behind Prince Noctis without hesitating. 

Drautos dismisses the Glaives with a command, and the group in unison lets out a tense breath that perhaps none knew they were holding. You spot Sirius winding her way toward you, outstretching her arms when she's only a few paces away. You join her in an embrace, neither of you crying, but each undeniably propping the other up in a moment of emotional exhaustion. 

"You doing okay?" You muffle into her hair. 

"Still mad,"

"Mad?"

"I should be on the gate with you." 

"What?"

She stands straight again, eyes damp now and threatening to fill, but her expression is resolute. 

"This funeral, all those names,” She gestures to the list of thinly etched names on the coffin, “…I could have saved someone. Even if it meant getting kicked to the gate, don't you think it would've been a trade-off worth making?"

"Sirius, you're too talented to be on the gates and you know it,"

"That, and it could have been my funeral too, Sirius." You hear Nyx's voice as he approaches, weaving through the Glaives each making a bee line for the exit. "But you were there when my ass needed saving. She's right. You're no good on the gate. Stay where it counts, okay?"

"For us?" You chime. Sirius' expression relents and she hiccups a little. 

"...Okay." 

Your phone gives a single short buzz in your pocket, and you dig through the layers of your uniform to fish it from your pants as you begin to make your way to the exit with the rest of the Glaives.

 

 

_"Can you meet me once you're back at the Citadel?"_

 

You chuckle dryly to yourself as you tap out your reply.

 

_"Well, the east gate needs a babysitter. Could you drive me out there, maybe?"_

 

_"Gladly. If that's the case, stay where you are. Once I drop Noct off I'll circle back."_

 

_"Okay. Thanks, Iggy."_

 

 

 

 

 

The remaining Glaives filter out into the street outside the cathedral in various directions, some heading for their posts, others to their homes, making their ways towards their cars or the train or just hoofing it. You stall by the door, looking for a decent place to wait for Ignis, all the while feeling a mixture of anxiousness and anticipation duke it out in your stomach. You haven't seen him in a few days and are happy to visit, even if just for the drive to the gate, but he'll doubtless be curious what it is you wanted to tell him in person, and post-mass-funeral is hardly an appropriate time for a love confession. You scrub at your face and sigh, leaning against the wall of the cathedral. The stone is cool against your back in the mid-May heat, and you allow yourself a moment to close your eyes and detach. 

A few minutes go by and you hear a car slow quietly at the curb you're standing near, and you open your eyes to find Ignis waiting there, expression a little tired, a little melancholy, but definitely with overtones of relief and happiness to see you. You give him a sideways grin as you stand from the wall, knowing pretty well how he's feeling. 

When you open the door and slide into the passenger's seat next to him, he's already pulling you into an embrace across the center console. You let out a rough sigh into his shoulder and spend a few grateful moments just letting the car idle in silence. Ignis plants a kiss to the top of your head as he gently pulls away, cupping your cheek in his hand and pressing a second chaste kiss to your mouth. 

"It's good to see you," You manage, your throat tight with a number of conflicting emotions. 

"It's so good to see you as well, my dear." At this he straightens and shifts the car back into drive, heading for the east gate. You let a beat pass as he merges onto the highway. 

"It's been hard to eat." 

Ignis' brows peak. 

"I'm so very sorry to hear that, darling." 

"I want you to cook for me again." You say straightforwardly. This earns you a lighthearted chuckle. 

"If I can remedy your poor appetite, I would of course be delighted. Have you missed my cooking more than you've missed me?"

"'Bout equal."

"That's fair." 

As his speed plateaus and he settles into a lane, he lifts one hand from the steering wheel and intertwines it with yours, and you give a grateful squeeze.

"How have _you_ been holding up?" You pipe.

"Busy," He says with a wry smile, but quickly his expression falls into a pensive furrow. "Though...not from attending any meetings in Noct's stead. The King doesn't see fit to include him on those present goings-on, it seems."

"No? The Prince was at the funeral though." 

"That is true. I can't say I quite understand Regis' reasoning for the moves he makes versus the ones he declines, but I'm not in the position to question, nor do I feel the need to." He exhales, slow and quiet. "My past few days have been, well..." He pauses and glances in your direction. "...Spent planning a wedding."

"A wed...what?" 

"Truthfully I'm not sure how much I can tell you, as this isn't public knowledge yet. The news will be clamoring for this, and if I say now, I'm technically leaking information." 

"...Okay?" You're at a complete loss. "...Can you at least let me know if it's _your_ wedding we're talking about?" 

Ignis laughs, letting some tension from his body. You can tell by the loosening of his fingers interlaced with yours.

"No, no, I wouldn't be snatched away from you with so little protest." He gives you a sideways smile and your heart lifts a little. "Perhaps...if you can promise me you won't let on, it may be easier for you to find out from me, rather than some media outlet or even your commander."

Your stomach drops. Find out? Find out _what?_

"...Alright," You say cautiously. Ignis exhales slowly.

"The Empire has offered a ceasefire."

"...Alright." 

  "With a few caveats." 

“...A-Alright," Luche's words from yesterday pierce through your guts. 

"To establish a lasting peace, Lady Lunafreya and Noct are to be wed. Hardly an unfortunate arranged marriage, as far as they go." 

"Sure," 

"And..." He glances at you and gives a sad sigh. "The territories outside of the capital are to be surrendered to Imperial control." 

You swallow, letting the confirmation of your suspicions pulse through you. You look down at your hand interlaced with Ignis' on the center console and wait a few beats, just breathing, thinking. 

"...Alright." 

Ignis glances your direction, taken aback.

"That's all?"

"Ignis...I saw the Empire's power. I don't know if you've heard about what...what _insanity_ they brought to life out on the battlefield, but...you're not the first person to tell me that our odds of winning the war aren't looking up." Ignis squeezes your hand as you draw breath. "If it means people stop dying...if it means I don't ever have to go to one of those mass funerals again...if it means the city is safe, and the territories outside will stop being targeted...if I can stop fighting...if I can just...just stay with you," You hold his gaze for a beat. "...Then I'm okay with it." 

You and Ignis exhale softly together. 

"The King intends to announce the plan to cede the regions to the Empire tomorrow," Ignis continues, voice perhaps just a little less tense. "And there will be a treaty signing shortly thereafter."

"Okay. I'm sure I'll be put on some kind of patrol for that. Where will you be for the signing?" 

"Well, that's difficult to say." Ignis gives you a sad smile. "I'm to escort Noct to his wedding in Altissia, along with the rest of his retinue. When the treaty is signed I'll be somewhere on the road." 

"O-Oh," Your face falls a little. "...For how long?" 

"Two or three weeks, perhaps." He squeezes your hand again. "Don't worry. Once Noct is married and his affairs are in order, I'll be returning. My place is at Noct’s side, and his is at the Citadel." 

"...Okay," You murmur. It's...a lot to take in. It's a lot to adjust to. "When are you leaving?" 

“...The day after tomorrow." 

Your heart clenches. 

"I see,"

"I'm glad I was able to visit for a moment before the trip, even if it is just to drive you to work." He smiles a little wryly at you, and you allow yourself to join. You can see the east wall looming closer and closer through the windshield, and you suddenly find yourself counting the seconds until Ignis needs to leave you at the gate and then disappear for so many days across the world. 

“Are you spending tomorrow knee-deep in getting the Prince packed for the road trip?”

“Indeed. Waist-deep, more likely.”

You allow yourself a chuckle.

The east gate yawns in your view, concrete and iron and with multiple roads leading in and out, all broken by signals and barriers and other pedestrian means of security. Ignis slows and turns out into a small parking lot before the border. When he shifts the car into park, you’re both still for a second, but in a quick movement, like he’s remembered himself, he exits the car and circles around to the passenger door to open it for you, offering his hand. Your heart squeezes.

“Before we part, what was it you wanted to tell me, my dear?” He asks as you stand. Your eyes find the ground.

If you’re going to tell him you love him, it needs to be now, or you’ll need to wait until he comes back from Altissia. You swallow as you reach to take his hand and let him help you out of the car.

Now? Now is after a funeral, after learning your home region will be surrendered to Imperial control, before Ignis is leaving for multiple weeks on a trip to another continent, at the east gate parking lot in front of the gatewatch and with the hot May sun cooking the pavement under you.

A few weeks from now will be after a wedding, a happy one all things considered, during peacetime, even if achieved at the losing end of a war. A few weeks from now will have your services required less, as the need to be battle-ready will be lessened immeasurably. Perhaps Ignis will also have a little more free time, especially if Prince Noctis is on a honeymoon.

You stand and embrace him, gripping him tightly to you and burying your face in his Crownsguard uniform.

“It needs to wait until you’re back.”

You feel Ignis inhale smoothly against your forehead.

“If you’re certain.”

“Yeah,” You stand straight again, your eyes wandering over his chest bound in the black uniform, the searching green of his eyes too intense for you at present. “This is a good look on you,” You mumble, trying to bring a little levity back to your mood.Ignis exhales through a grin.

“Anything looks good on me.”

You relent and finally give a genuine laugh, even if it’s closer to a reluctant snort.

“Would it be too much to ask that you bring back tons of new Altissian recipes and cook them for me?”

“It would be my privilege to do so.”

Letting go of him is physically painful, and you have to do it by degrees. First lifting your forehead from his chest, then sliding your grip from the embrace to clasp his hands. You touch your forehead to his.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Be safe.”

And you kiss. And then you’re walking to your post at the gate. And Ignis is driving away from you back toward the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a cruel god and this fic just keeps getting sadder, but I am SO BLESSED to see this fic has over 4,000 hits now, so whatever pain I'm dishing up, I can only conclude that y'all are eating it up! Thank you all so much for your patience and your readership; I love everyone in this bar!


End file.
